Senses
by VegasGirl09
Summary: A journey into the world of Finn and Nick, one letter at a time.
1. Art

Art

Working graveyard shifts allowed him to see many sunrises, but not even one was as bright as her. Not one rose to the occasion's life presented them. From the moment he first shared a night with her, and they awoke the next morning to bright light filtering into the room through the curtains, did he realize what he had been missing. She was right there, pressing herself against him, warming his side and his heart. Her hair caught up in tangles because of how much he ran his fingers through it. She rubbed her eyes and he melted. She pressed a kiss to his neck, those tangled curls tickling, and he thought he would die from her affections. She whispered a soft "morning" to him, her voice raspy from sleep but piercing his soul. When he whispered back "morning" he pressed a long kiss to her forehead, lingering there, loving how she leaned into him, wanting as many kisses as she could get from him.

She was all love. She surprised him with how soft she was. All he knew prior to that was passion, anger, pent up energy. He knew why she had been with so many other guys but now he knew why she never settled. She was wild, free, unattached and she thrived on that. She owned her life and was now sharing it with him like a private screening. He knew how she slept, how she tossed and turned, how she cuddled, kissed, loved. After so many mishaps in his life, good fortune had finally befallen on him. She wrapped herself around his soul and grew in his heart like a wildflower, daring to perch wherever she pleased.

As they struggled to rouse themselves and start the day, he watched her stretch, over exaggeratedly, her arms above her head, fingers touching the headboard before flopping them back down, sending waves of air in his direction. Playful. She detangled herself from the covers, kicking at them until they were bunched up at the end of the bed she was never going to make. He watched her shuffle around the room, snatching up random articles of clothing she decided on the spot to throw on for the day. He fought the urge to reach out and lure her back into bed and never leave. Once she decided on an outfit for the day, she slipped into it, turning to the mirror to start fixing her hair. His heart ached as she tended to each curl, teasing at them delicately to make them stay styled all day. He thought back to running his fingers through each strand as she slept and could not wait for the next opportunity to do so. Her movements around his room were like delicate brush strokes across a blank canvass. He had never spent so much time in here as he now did with her. It became a sanctuary. She made it her home and his favorite place to be with her. When she turned back to him, frowning because he was not ready yet, stabbing his heart with her pout, he couldn't help but grin.

"What?" she asked shaking her head, confused about his delay in getting ready.

"Just being lazy I guess," he said shrugging.

She knew the feeling, having to struggle to drag herself away from him each morning. But their life together was growing each day, discovering new things about each other, new feelings they had not explored or ever felt before. Simplicity was extraordinary in their world.

"I'll be downstairs," she said, turning to walk out of the room, a way to lure him to follow her because any second away from her was torture.

In the kitchen as he rounded the corner, finally dressed and ready to start breakfast, she was there, perched on the stool at the counter, reading the crossword puzzle from the paper yesterday, scrunching up her face as she thought of the answers to each clue. Her eyes darting across the page rapidly, expressions of realization every time she knew an answer delighted him. She lit up. She hummed. She waved the pencil back and forth anxiously as she worked. She bit her lip to concentrate. She was like a thousand photos being shot in rapid motion, unable to be contained to a single frame.


	2. Bruise

Bruise

She saw him from the two-way glass, spring up from his chair and make a move towards the suspect they had been interrogating. There was a rage in his eyes as he reached across the metal table, restrained only by Brass before promptly being kicked out. She followed him to the locker room where he threw the punch he had been holding on to, denting the first unused locker he could reach and drawing blood from his knuckles.

"You shouldn't have done that," she scolded him mildly as she sat across from him on the bench, wrapping gauze and bandages around his wounds.

"He's lucky I didn't get my hands on him," he snarled, rage still coursing through him.

Who was she to tell him what not to do when she was the definition of reckless? Instability was her middle name. Yet she was the reason he threw the punch in the first place.

"He was only saying that to get a rise out of you," she reminded him, adjusting the roll of medical tape to fit the awkward way his knuckles had taken the brunt of the blow.

"Doesn't matter," he tossed aside her reasoning "he should never have, not about anyone, especially not about _you_."

He was shaking now, pumped on adrenaline. She stayed silent, thinking of how difficult this suspect had been since the beginning of their case, recalling sarcastic taunts he had uttered to them at the scene and the word that set Nick off in interrogation when he presented him with evidence, her evidence, his blood at the scene and the pattern consistency to the knife he owned; _bitch._

Of course, her blood boiled too but she had been called way worse in this line of work. She had been stared at while working at scenes, leered at, called names, whistled at, the usual nonsense. She always had a way of ignoring it, burying it deep, letting it roll of her like water. Men. She scoffed, sneered, reminded herself that they were all garbage, until Nick. Until their time together. And after tonight, she knew how far he was willing to go to protect her from anything.

"It's whatever," she shrugged, avoiding his gaze, focusing on wrapping his hand, of the way his fit so nicely in hers when she held it, of each line on his palms, ones she traced lazily when they were resting at home, each rough patch of skin showing how hard he worked in harsh conditions, of the blood stains from the encounter with the locker, it all brought tears to her eyes. Someone cared. Someone wanted to defend her honor in an old-fashioned chivalrous way. Chivalry. She thought of their playful banter that night at the dumpster, he told her chivalry had died when he made her hop in that disgusting dumpster, a ruse that later led them to a hot shower together washing away that mess.

"Hey," he snapped, bringing her back to reality "it's not nothing okay? He deserves to be thrown in jail."

"The evidence will put him there," she replied robotically, eager to get back to her daydream.

"I want you off this case," he said now, and she scoffed.

"Please Nicky, we both know that will never happen," she bit back.

He sighed, only slightly annoyed by her stubbornness in this moment. She finished taping the gauze around his hand but wasn't ready to let it go just yet. She looked at him, wanting him to know she appreciated him defending her in the moment but didn't know how. She mentally cursed her inability to communicate like a normal girlfriend. What was wrong with her? He was going to get up and walk away and never know what she had to tell him. Come on brain, work! But it was too late, he stood up, eager to get back to work, rummaging for his phone in his pocket.

"I thought chivalry was dead," she mumbled quickly to him.

"What?" he asked.

She trembled as she sat up with confidence and said, "You told me chivalry was dead, last year, the dumpster dive, but, tonight, you basically threw down with a suspect, I guess it's not dead after all."

Her heart beat faster in her chest as she awaited his response, her stomach aching with anxiety, was that too much?

To her relief, he smirked, then laughed and said, "You remembered that huh?"

She nodded, smiling meekly, shocked at how coy she had played that. He sat back down on the bench facing her.

"So, to win you over I just have to punch someone?" he asked jokingly.

"Not always," she said smugly "there are other options, chainsaws, baseball bats, tennis rackets, any blunt object will do."

"Good to know," he said.

They were both grinning uncontrollably now at their ridiculous conversation. He flexed the bandaged hand and said, "You did a good job with this, thanks."

"Anytime," she said anticipating more injuries if they, both rough and tumble people, were going to be together.

She could not resist leaning across the bench to kiss him now, soft and slow, long enough to get them caught if anyone walked by.

"Hey now," he whispered when she finally pulled back "we gotta be careful around here."

"I know," she said blushing at the potential risk they took any time they spent alone like this.

But he shared her desire to keep going, to kiss without being afraid of being caught, to drive home together instead of separately. For now, going their separate ways would have to do. He reached up with his uninjured hand to tuck loose strands of her hair behind her ear, a gesture that did nothing to put out the fire she now felt. The end of their shift could not get here quick enough.

"I better get back," Nick said now "Brass might kill me if I don't write up that report."

"Okay," she mumbled sad to see him go and making sure he knew it with her signature pout.

He stood up and made his way towards the door, but she called for him, "Nicky?" one last time.

"Thanks," she muttered, tears forming in her eyes, grateful for his protection, tired of having to do it all by herself.

"Any time," he said, raising his bandaged hand to form a fist, always ready to fight for her even if the gesture made him wince and her roll her eyes at his mistake. An eye roll, a smirk, a laugh, a shake of her head, those curls bouncing wildly, she was worth it, every punch, every shot of pain. Like whiskey, she burned a hole into his soul, and he would gladly burn for her.


	3. Cold

Cold

She shivered. It was such a beautiful reaction; he was enthralled by it. After that, he realized it didn't take much to bring out that reaction in her. A thirty-five-degree night, processing a scene up in the mountains, their breath rising in front of them as they worked. She stole glances at him, wanting desperately to be home, tucked away from the bitter wind whipping at their faces, tossing her hair, making her eyes water and her bones ache. When they stopped to put away their kits and evidence in the back of the SUV, she leaned on the trunk bed, drawing her arms around her and trembling, hands tucked into her sleeves. It broke him.

When they swam in the ocean near his condo and clouds started to build so they had to race back to his place before rain started. They reached the porch just in time, unable to avoid getting drenched in rain. Not wanting to drag water into the house, they stayed settled in the hammock on his porch to dry off, her head on his chest, wrapped loosely in towels, swaying gently along, he worked at the tangles in her hair, loving how the salty water intensified them. He pulled at each strand of hair delicately, his fingers brushing casually against her neck, unable to resist skimming down her spine, feeling her shiver against him.

When they were alone, in the dark, under the covers, a single touch was all it took, his fingers grazing her bare skin. Lifting a sleeve to kiss her shoulder. Tugging at the collar to get to her neck. Raising the hem of her shirt, stopping just at her hips. Kissing spots that normally went untouched. Exposing her to the cold air, creating repetitive shivers, endless goosebumps, unable to take his eyes off her.

When he took her to visit his parents in Texas, they snuck out of the house after dark, taking her down to the lake where he loved to sneak off to as a teenager. He lowered himself into the water, reaching for her, lifting her, loving how she braced herself by holding on to his shoulders. It was like sinking into a semi warm bath, the muggy air creating fog around them. She clung to him as they floated around the circumference of the lake, arms wrapped around him tightly. He guided her like a ghost over the water, barely making sounds, water droplets collecting on her skin, her hair sticking to her shoulders. It didn't take long for the night air to get to her and he felt her press herself closer to him, foreheads touching as she sought out his warmth, loving the intoxicating way he asked her "are you cold?" answering him with a simple nod of her head, her stomach tingling when he lifted her to be closer to him, her soul soaring, flying, her heart swooning alive.


	4. Detonate

Detonate

"No!" she screamed, pounding her fist on the mattress, squirming on the bed anxiously.

Nick reached out to her, but she pushed his hands away.

"No!" she cried now, less harsh but still in protest of her situation.

Dr. King and the nurses slipped out of room to give them privacy after delivering the news that she would have to stay in the hospital to recover and complete therapy before being allowed to be discharged. It would likely take a week or longer. Coma's had different effects on people, and they would not know the lasting effects on her until they observed her for a few more days.

She had been sitting up in bed, waiting eagerly for him after all her tests, stretching her arms out for him. Her smiled faded when he told her she would have to stay. Her arms fell back at her sides, defeated, and her scream of protest echoed in his ears. Her eyes filled with tears she had no doubt been holding in for hours, awaiting the chance to cry. She begged, pleaded, grabbed at his shirt with a weak grip crying to him "You promised me, you promised"

She repeatedly sobbed that as he gently lay her down, letting the pillows cradle her head, holding her face with both his hands, trying to wipe away her tears but she was crying to hard for him to catch them all.

"It's gonna be fine," he soothed plainly, unsure what else to tell her.

"No" she whimpered shaking her head, feeling the urge to run away but having no strength to carry herself. She twisted around on the bed, struggling to settle. She was a firecracker, a live wire, sparking and arcing, burning a thousand degrees. Her face was red, her skin hot to the touch. He feared a fever, some repercussion of the coma but he knew it was just her emotions on overdrive. Her spirit crushed, overwhelmed by her surroundings, aching for the comfort of home.

She crumbled before him, sobbing harder and he broke right beside her, leaning down to embrace her but keep her laying down, worried she try to escape. She buried her face into his chest, howling, searching for relief, a way around her predicament but when none could be found, it angered her. She was a spitfire, overheated machinery, wheels spinning furiously, burning fumes. Consoling her seemed like a far away island which he had no boat to reach her with. Her tears soaked his shirt and if they could, they would have burned right through to his heart. She would be okay in time, but this was fury at it's finest, her fury, there was nothing quite like it. Hurricanes had nothing on her. She was devastation on an earthquake magnitude level.

Her fingers grabbed frantically at the fabric of his shirt, loosing their grip in her weakened state, curling back into loose fists. She no longer pounded on him or the mattress. She was fading, the fire burning itself out, plumes of smoke spiraling into the air, she would likely cry herself to sleep, he hated himself for hoping that but there was no other way. No matter how long it took for her to settle, he would stay, hovering over her, shielding her in the only sanctuary she had right now. After a while, when her sobs turned into whimpers and her whimpers turned into silence, did he feel safe to lower her back onto the pillows. Slowly, he let his arms slip from around her so he could cover her with the blankets, soothing her burning forehead with a single kiss, continuing to wipe away the trails of tears that soaked her cheeks. After weeks of watching her lie motionless in this bed, seeing her bubble back to life with pure rage was a welcomed relief, albeit devastating to her soul, she was here. He settled back on the chair beside the bed he had occupied for weeks, cradling her hand in his, counting her fingers, kissing her wrist, trailing a finger up her arm. He had no intention of waking her, just loving her, hoping her mind was calmed in this moment of tranquility, anticipating a category five hurricane when she awoke. But she was just like a hurricane, tearing up the shore of his world, passing over, making the landscape of his heart a little bit bigger.


	5. Evidence

Evidence

Tropical shampoo, a drunken laugh, a crooked hat with elf ears, a cell phone background of her, her blonde hair easily recognizable from a faraway distance. A dark parking lot, she hurried across it, slipping inside the SUV, leaning across the seat to kiss him before they drove off. A tennis racket falling out of his locker, a stand of blonde hair on his jacket which he shrugged off, that tropical shampoo scent pluming into the air but she was nowhere in sight.

Her forehead pressed against his as she cornered him in a hallway of the station, inches away from kissing him, pulling away when someone turned the corner, pushing her hair back, her face turning red, gasping when he grabbed her sides suddenly and pulled her back to him, whispering something in her ear, daring to put themselves out in the open and potentially get caught.

Earrings, studs, gold, left at the table of the breakroom. A coffee mug with a lipstick print. An empty nail polish bottle. Crumbled up bag of chips, an empty pizza box, a tea bag on a paper plate. Sunglasses in the passenger seat visor, a leather jacket in the backseat.

A photo album on the arm of the couch, opened to a page featuring a little girl with blonde curls tamed barely in pigtails, held by a man in glasses and a white lab coat, a woman with dark hair beaming beside them in the photo, the same little girl riding a bike, climbing a tree, jumping into a mud puddle. A vintage worn out teddy bear perched on a bookshelf. A necklace on the nightstand, glasses on the dresser, a baseball bat under the bed, a book on the chair, the last spot read marked with a slip of paper, two blankets folded up at the end of the bed, the covers strewn across it, messy, unkept. A shirt hanging up on the hook behind the bathroom door, a brush, a curling iron, not that she needed it.

Little hearts doodled on a piece of paper, a loopy signature on a casefile, an I Love You scribbled in the corner of a scrap piece of paper she slipped into his hand before departing.

Evidence never lies.


	6. Fall

Fall

He didn't want to text or call, that would make her panic and rush home. Waiting for her however was taking an eternity. He tried not to pace so he sank onto the couch with the TV on trying to relax his racing mind. When he finally heard the lock turn in the door, he stood up, ready to greet her. She became visible in the foyer, kicking off her shoes and tossing her keys into the ceramic tray. She dumped her purse onto the second armchair they used for piling junk on and bounded right up to him.

"Hi," she greeted him breathlessly as if she had indeed rushed to get here. Though they had only been together about a year or so now, they had not really defined their relationship, stuff just happened, she divided her time between his house and her condo, not quite ready to let it go just yet.

"Hey," he said accepting the kiss she gave him but when she pulled away, she could sense something was wrong.

"What happened?" she immediately demanded to know "you're tense, something happened, what, tell me?"

"Just this case," he said running a hand through his hair "Morgan and I have been working on It for months and the witness we had, our CI, well someone figured out he was helping us and they killed him, and we know it was the rival gang he was working on putting away."

"Oh Nicky," she said in a sad tone "I'm so sorry."

"I promised the kids mother he'd be safe, and I let her down," he immediately unloaded his guilt on her.

"You did everything you could," she soothed rubbing his arm "he knew the risks, but he still wanted to do the right thing, he won't have died in vain."

"Yeah but now the gangs gonna walk," Nick sighed, turning away and sinking back onto the couch "they have been terrorizing that neighborhood for years, murders, drug deals, robberies, and the witness to put them away is gone, I just can't stop thinking about all those families watching us at the scene, asking for help but not being able to talk."

She followed him, sinking on to the couch beside him.

"I know how that goes," she reminded him of all her time in this field, wishing she had better words to comfort him with.

"Why is this crap so unfair?" he asked.

All she could do is shake her head, having no honest explanation for him.

"I wish I knew Nicky," she sympathized, sliding closer to him, reaching for his hand, linking her arm around his and laying her head on his shoulder.

"Life isn't fair," she sniffled "good people get hurt, bad people get away with stuff, but when we can save someone or bring someone justice, those are the victories we celebrate, we just can't win them all Nicky, I know you want to and I do too but we just can't"

She finished the best advice she could offer him, nuzzling against his shoulder, waiting for him to respond.

"Yeah I know," he said, "some days it just sucks."

He leaned his head against hers as they sat there in the living room, the TV on but on low volume.

"Will you stay here tonight?" he asked her, and she nodded, relief sweeping through him.

Sleep seemed like such a far away luxury for Nick as he stayed with her on the couch, late into the night, playing card games, munching on snacks, occasionally talking about the case and the events of their days. He noticed she would yawn every few minutes or so and he knew she was probably exhausted, hating himself for keeping her awake. Sure enough, when she disappeared upstairs, telling him she would change into comfier clothes and be right back, then she didn't return, he went upstairs and found her asleep on the bed, half covered with blankets, one leg sticking out from under them, her arm tossed over her head resting on the pillows. He managed a smile at her funny sleeping position, coming over to her side of the bed to pull the blankets up to cover her properly before sliding into bed beside her.

She awoke with a start, moving restlessly under several warm blankets, blankets? How could that be? When she opened her eyes, she could see sunlight illuminating the bedroom, damn, she had gone up here to change then sat down for a moment to rest her eyes, obviously she had fallen asleep. Feeling guilty, she turned over to lay on her back and stretch her arms over her head, touching the headboard like she usually did before letting her arms stay up resting on the pillows. Nicks smile was the next thing she saw as he was sitting beside her, watching over her.

"Comfy?" he asked, and she nodded, grinning that adorable goofy grin.

"I fell asleep, didn't I?" she questioned him in a groggy, sleep laden voice.

"Yeah you did sweetness," he said, bringing his hand up to graze her cheek gently.

"I'm sorry," she apologized softly, nuzzling against his hand "you wanted to keep talking about work and I blew it."

"Nah, I'm okay now," he assured her.

"Are you sure?" she asked worriedly.

"Yes darlin', he said reaching up to smooth her hair back repeatedly, loving how her curls bounced back every time, like little springs, soft and delicate. His hand in her hair, fingers scratching lightly making chills go down her back, her stomach tingling.

"I love it when you call me that," she said, "it's my favorite."

"Well you're my favorite," he teased, loving how soft she was, the repetitive action of running his fingers through her hair was comforting to him, her arms causally tossed over her head on the pillows melted him, as did the goofy grin she continued to wear, her eyes laden with sleep. He realized just how infatuated he was with her, how she had helped him feel better last night, how she woke up this way, so bright, like an extension of the sun. He wanted to soak up every detail of her face, noticing tiny freckles on her cheeks for the first time, wondering how he had missed seeing those before. He was falling fast for her, tumbling into a new world, like Alice in Wonderland, she was fantasy, leaving her mark on his harsh reality.

"You're my favorite too," she added on to their sweet conversation.

His hand on her head, smoothing her hair back over and over was soothing. The way he was looking at her, full of compassion and tenderness, made her feel at ease. Relationships didn't have to make her heart race to be intense. Her quiet time with Nick soothed her normally racing mind. Last night had been a reminder of just how much they needed each other. It was like falling and she never wanted to land.

"Would you like breakfast in bed?" he asked over politely.

"Not yet," she said lowering her arms to wrap around him and pull him closer "cuddles first."

"Yes ma'am," he agreed, gladly willing to cuddle with her until the world ended. But first, she needed kisses. He waited not a second longer to swoop down on her and kiss her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders, sneaking his hands under the covers, tickling her until she was squealing and lifting the blankets to let him in, turning on her side, still giggling as he embraced her. He tucked his arms around her, one hand finding her head to brush her hair again, over and over, fingers touching her forehead first then gliding through her hair. Falling in love with her was easy. Nothing could beat this moment as she lay with him, sinking into the mattress and the blankets. As much as he hated letting the job get to him, she was there, picking him up. And this morning was another reminder of how wonderful it was to be with her, with her love, the greatest gift in the world and boy did he love to fall.


	7. Gone

Gone

The case files, photos and handwritten notes scattered the coffee table, couch and kitchen counter. Each piece of the case was like a string, connecting to another but not making any sense. Pens and highlighters littered the tables, crumpled pieces of paper lay on the floor having missed the trash can and the thrower was too lazy to pick them up. The trail of messy papers and case files led to the occupant of the space curled up on the couch, dissecting each note, squinting, analyzing, struggling.

The stake out with Maya Russell had gone down in a blaze of bullets, killing Briscoe and forcing Shaw to reveal his hand in the twisted game of the Gig Harbor Killer. Now Julie found herself trapped, immersed in the files, searching for answers, why did Shaw come all the way here to play this game? Why drag her into it? Why risk the life of his daughter, one soul for another? Why Maya Russell? Why after all this time did this killer focus so much on them? And where the hell was Winthrop? Obviously, he was the partner, the twin, the connection they had always knew but could not prove until now.

She was so immersed in the files that she did not hear anything around her until a loud voice right beside her said "What are you doing?"

She could not help but jump and look up to see Nick standing across the counter wearing a suit and tie and a frown.

"Working," she said, flipping a page in her notebook "what are _you_ doing?"

She eyed his outfit with a snarky look.

"Waiting for you," he said coolly "we had plans tonight remember?" 

"That's next week," she immediately shut him down, highlighting a phone number in the notebook.

"No, it was tonight," he corrected her "dinner, downtown, six o'clock, it's been on the fridge and my phone for weeks."

She glanced up at the fridge where they had a dry erase board to write messages and sure enough, todays date was scribbled there with the time and restaurant on it. She looked at the clock, it was almost eight. She bit her lip, a tiny ripple of guilt bubbling up inside her, but the passion for her case was stronger.

"I'm sorry Nicky but I really needed to work on this," she explained to his dismay.

"Really?" he snapped now "after planning this for weeks, getting the night off, getting dressed up, I sat there waiting forever thinking Russell had kept you or something stupid, but you've been here, doing this crap, again."

"It's not crap," she snapped right back "it's serious, Winthrop is involved with this case, he is not going to get away."

"And we will catch him eventually," Nick reminded her "but you gotta take a break, this is killing you, and me, you're obsessed."

That was the wrong word to use. She hit her palm on the table as she stood up and launched her attack.

"Obsessed?" she sneered "this is important, he's killing women, he hurt Kerry and Maya and who knows how many others are out there, they deserve justice and all you care about is food?" 

"Not just food," Nick fought back "I care about us, our time together, we said we wouldn't let work consume us and here you are."

He waved at all the notes and files scattered across the table.

"Well excuse me for caring about my friend and those women, and now this whole mess with Shaw," she explained.

Nick scoffed at the mention of his name.

"What?" she snapped now "he's important to this case too, he came to us, he was looking for Kerry, we owe him that much."

"No, you think you do," Nick hit her with, and she knew what he was implying. She had worked with Shaw in Seattle and again these past few months, too much for Nick's liking but he let it go. Now that Shaw was dead, she was still fighting for him and not her sanity.

"You are ridiculous," she said, shaking her head "Shaw and I were just partners, but until we prove one hundred percent Winthrop's involvement, I need to keep digging into his life, his daughter deserves that closure."

"When is it enough for you?" Nick asked "when you get hit by a car like you did in Larkston? When you get fired and sued like you did up in Seattle? Will you ever stop getting into trouble?" It's like you have a death wish or something."

He was firing every bullet he could at her to hurt, burn, sting, pulverize her soul and it worked. She started scooping up the case files and shoving them into her bag. She snatched up her keys and her phone and started marching towards the door.

"Come on, what are you doing?" he asked.

She rounded on him, glaring as she said "You think I'm crazy for wanting the truth, well that's too bad, this is how I am, you know that, you promised me you understood, well it sounds like you don't, good news for you though, I don't need anyone to help me with this, I'll figure it out on my own like always."

She lifted the canvas bag on to her shoulder, piercing him with a stare containing emotions he could not identify. After all they had been through, this was what broke them? He knew she was just being stubborn but that did not help soothe his heart full of regret as she opened the door and marched through it; proving to him she did not need anyone. Their life together imploded before his eyes and before he could even think about stopping her, she was gone.


	8. Hands

Hands

They couldn't keep their hands off each other, but who could blame them? Most people referred to that time of a relationship as "the honeymoon phase" or "lust, not love". They had no time for people like that ruining their fun. They were hands that intertwined, lacing fingers together, tracing palm lines delicately. Hands that reached out in the dark when they became separated during sleep. When they were at work and had to keep contact to a minimum, they would high five once a case was solved or a key piece of evidence came to light, never wanting to let go, knowing if they lingered too long, someone would catch on to their secret.

Hands that glided through her hair, stopping to feel each curl or scratch her head, sending chills down her spine. Hands that held her waist, lifting her onto counters, desks, tables, any surface, that pressure light but intoxicating. The back of his hand that caressed her cheek as she was dozing or just waking up before leaning in to place a kiss there. When her hair was messy and tangled in front of her eyes first thing in the morning, how he placed his palm on her forehead to smooth it all back, slowly, tenderly.

Hands that pinched and tickled, sneaking under her shirt, finding each and every ticklish spot, resting there on purpose to drive her crazy. Hands that lured her in with their warmth, resting on her back, putting more gentle pressure there. When she lay her hand on his chest or rubbed his shoulder when he was tense or upset. How she styled his hair when they lay in bed on a lazy Sunday, hardly able to move, just wrapped up in each other's touch. When she fixed his tie or his collar with delicate soft movements, eagerly awaiting their night out. Dancing brought his hands on her immediately, one on her back, one on her side, guiding her, trapping her in his world. A hand resting on her stomach when she woke up screaming from a nightmare and couldn't breathe, his soothing voice asking her to breathe in slow until she calmed down.

When he taught her guitar and piano, his hands laying on top of hers, guiding them to the correct keys and strings, praising her, stopping to kiss her until they were both distracted and forgetting all about the music lesson. Hands that squeezed her sides when he _really_ wanted to get her attention and her affections. Hands that shielded her ears from loud thunder outside. Hands that tugged at pieces of each other's clothing as they fumbled around the room, passion over taking them. Hands that lifted her after multiple failed attempts to walk in recovery from the coma. Hands that held her face and kissed her passionately when she finally did walk again. Her hands shaking as she reached for him, wanting to thank him a million times over but struggling to communicate except in the way she held his hand.

One hand tucked under her knees, the other behind her back, scooping her up when she fell asleep on the couch, sometimes pretending just so he would have to carry her to bed. Hands that couldn't resist brushing against her back or side as he reached to tuck the blankets around her whenever she fell asleep first, taking his time, savoring such a simple and tender moment. Her hands curled up gingerly on the pillow or his chest or whichever random place she decided to fall asleep. How she took his hand and pulled him to whichever fun place they discovered; the beach, the park, anywhere. When he took her surfing in San Diego for the first time in her life; he taught her how to balance on the surfboard, holding both his hands tight for support, scared to let go in the rocky water, yet trusting his guidance and eventually standing on her own, eyes ablaze with excitement over her victory. Hands that dug together in the sand for seashells, placing pieces they found in each other's outstretched palms, her smile of joy at finding them a beautiful sight. Walking along the beach with her, hands intertwined as always, her fierce grip a reminder of why he should never let go.

They sure were a handful.


	9. Intoxicated

Intoxicated

They were drunk off their asses, to put it mildly. Music reverberated around them, making their chests vibrate and ears pound. It was lucky the bar was so loud because they were laughing hard at absolutely nothing. It started off simple, meet me for a drink after shift, she text messaged him. As he waltzed into the unoriginal desert themed bar and dance club on The Strip, he scanned the bar counter for her, spotting her unmistakable curls instantly. Smirking, he took the stool beside her and asked, "Is this seat taken?" in a fake modest tone, acting as if he did not know her.

She spun around, wearing the biggest smile, eyes bright, clearly having had a drink or two already.

"Go ahead," she allowed him, nodding at the seat, turning to sit facing him now.

"Are you a cop?" she asked noticing the badge tucked into his jeans.

"Yes ma'am," he played along "gotta keep this beast of a city safe."

He stared off into the distance, making a dramatic pose like he was in a movie. She giggled and reached over to nudge him and say "Stop it"

"You started it," he reminded her, dropping the act but still grinning "this mysterious text you sent me."

"I thought I was very clear," she said, "we meet here, we drink."

She sipped whatever drink combo she currently had in front of her, swirling the straw through the ice casually. They ordered more. She scooted the bar stool closer to him so she could see and hear him better in this wild room. He was not one to frequent places like this so being here with her was slightly out of his comfort zone. Clearly, they were already an established couple so why would she want to be here in the midst of others hunting for love tonight? He knew not to question her choices for too long, so he let his mind wander as they drank. When she reached for his hand, pulling him out of the stool and leading him onto the tiny crowded dance floor, he felt a rush. She tugged on his hand and his soul, guiding him to a different kind of salvation through her love. On the dance floor, she ignited, still holding his hand, making him spin her until she was dizzy and swaying or maybe it was from the alcohol. She made funny faces at him, waved her hands playfully, her hair swinging wildly with each energetic movement. When they slowed the music, she scoffed but it was his turn to light up, grabbing her waist, pulling her against him as they swayed, slower and steadier. She fidgeted, anxious, hating the slow tempo but reeling when she felt his hands squeeze her sides, her head buzzing, stomach tingling, butterflies taking flight.

"Not so fast," he whispered to her of her inability to sit still but also of the way he was able to contain her for this slow song.

His soft voice barely reached her in the noise of the crowd, the clinking of glasses behind the bar, the sharp crack of the pool table balls crashing into each other, the chatter, laughter and higher voices of the other patrons. That disorientation and auditory distraction made the words much more impactful to her as did the pressure of his hands on her waist, fingers lacing around the belt loops of her jeans, purposely pressing his fingers on her hips. She curled her hands in against his chest, never sure where to put them while dancing this way; an awkward hesitation he adored. No sooner did the music switch back to faster beats did she break free from him and spin around again, back in her comfort zone.

"You know," he almost had to shout over the music "I know a club with a much better dance floor than this."

"Oh yeah?" she challenged him "prove it."

That was the alcohol talking on both their behalves. He had nothing to prove and she just enjoyed being loud and rambunctious, not confined by the stuffy routine of their job. Not weighed down by responsibilities and such nonsense. Now it was his turn to lead her away from the dance floor, paying for the drinks they racked up before slipping out onto The Strip again. As they meandered down the packed street, lights exploding above their heads, she kept asking him "where are we going?" loudly.

"You'll see," he kept torturing her, making her wait, her least favorite thing to do.

They caught a cab, the blurry shapes of the strip passing them by, heads still buzzing, grinning at each other madly, stupidly, drunkenly, happily. She was disappointed to see they stopped right in front of his house. She shot him a look, pouting but somewhat relieved. Inside, he only turned on a few lights before fumbling with the stereo system, finding a song then reaching out for her, pretending to salsa his way over to her with dance moves that were absolutely nothing like the salsa. She giggled and let him lead her to the open spot between the kitchen and the living room. There they spun and swayed, twisted and shimmied around the space, pushing the rug out of the way when she almost slipped on it. They kept dancing over to the radio when the song ended, and they needed more music. She fiddled with the dial until she found a song, not even giving them time to catch their breath before shimmying in front of him, making those funny faces again, jumping up and down to the bass beat. On the fourth song, it was his turn to trip over the rug near the couch and fall backwards, landing luckily on the cushiony couch behind him. She burst out laughing at his misfortune but gasped when he tugged on her hand, pulling her down with him. In her unsteady state, she fell on top of him, still laughing that hearty, deep laugh, hair flying in front of her face wildly. The song ended and he reached for the stereo remote on the coffee table to shut it off. They lay there, catching their breath, feeling head rushes.

"You're crazy," she informed him, pushing her forehead against his.

"So are you," he reminded her, pushing his forehead against hers, seeing who could get closer to the other, their favorite competition.

"That was fun," she exclaimed, suddenly turning over to lean back against him, flinging one arm over her head which almost hit him but came to rest near his shoulder. She was settling down, the alcohol burning off, sleep imminent for her. He touched his fingers to her wrist, trailing them down her arm slowly. She twitched her arm at the sensation, but she never lowered it, giggling, ticklish, all his.


	10. Jagged

Jagged

"It hurts," she cried to him, tears present in her normally bright eyes.

He picked her up and carried her into her room, her wonderful cozy space, so warm and inviting, he wished they spent more time here at her condo, but she loved his house so much, she always begged him to stay there. Tonight, was different. Her condo was closest to the hospital so bringing her here to recover was the smartest choice. He lowered her gently onto her messy, unmade bed, covers strewn everywhere yet cozy enough for her. He began to tuck her in, surrounding her with all her familiar blankets, ones that smelled like her, like home.

When he lay next to her, she wrapped her arms around her side where the pain radiated severely. The doctors told them both it would go away in a few days, keep up with the medicine and check the wound daily for any bleeding or torn stitches. Having her spleen removed due to internal bleeding was not on her list of things to accomplish this year, but here she was, running into trouble again and having no choice. The car that hit her in Larkston did enough damage to settle her usual trouble seeking soul for a while. Her breathing came in sharp and shallow, ragged, each breath causing pain to shoot across her body. Secure in bed with her, he reached for the hem of her shirt to look one more time at the wound, wanting to be sure it was the same as it was a few hours ago. She protested with a soft "Don't" grabbing his hand weakly.

"Please don't look anymore," she begged "don't want you to see-scar."

Her insecurity broke his heart. She knew he loved her; she knew he didn't care what happened in her past. But she was fragile at heart and soul, and worried deeply about things like scars. A thought occurred to him as he watched her cry, hating her current emotional state. Silently, he dimmed the lights behind him, throwing them into semi darkness. He reached for her hand, guiding it to his arm where he delicately placed her fingers on two rounded scars where angry ants had stung his flesh over and over for hours. Most had healed, these had not. She flinched when she felt them but only because she understood his pain and suffering, wishing she could undo it for him. Slowly, he moved her hand to his shoulder where a bullet had pierced it a few years ago. The edges of that scar were jagged and bumpy, the surgeon's rough removal of the bullet evident from the scarring. He ran her fingers over his forehead where glass had cut him as he was tossed out a second story window even earlier in his career. The same glass pierced his back and he let her feel those scars under his shirt. She continued to cry as he took her on this journey of mapping out each scar he could find. She knew what he was trying to do, trying to make her understand. It didn't diminish her pain and suffering, it further validated why they were so good together. She shared the job, the pain, the scars with him and knew in her heart what each wound represented. There was no one in the world he would rather be with than her.

Foolish insecurities seemed so invalid when someone else suffered worse. But they suffered on a similar level. She could cry with him, whisper her fears, ask him to keep her secrets, show him the parts of her she hated the most. But, as she learned from being with him, it was okay to hate parts of herself. She could have self-love and love from him without devaluing what she had been through. As he guided her fingers across the scars on his arm again, she pulled her hand away so she could caress the scars on her own. He deserved more love than she could ever give him, but here he was, loving her in one of her worst moments.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, and he cursed himself for making her misunderstand his intentions.

"Don't be," he soothed "we're here, we survived remember?"

She nodded, inhaling sharply and exhaling a whimper, trembling, adrenaline controlling her body, but the pain killers were beginning to take hold of her. The pain in her side started to numb, pulsing, dull instead of sharp. When he felt she was soothed enough, he slipped his hand under her shirt, feeling her flinch at his touch as he got closer to the tender spot where a vital organ had been ripped from her body just days ago. But he ran a single finger just under the jagged scar, not caring what it ended up looking like as long as she healed properly. She whimpered, not from the pain but in relief, his gentle touch just enough to soothe her and relax the muscles she had been tensing up for hours. He made her see reason, always, no matter the complexity of her pain, no matter what twisted negative thought her overactive brain decided to hit her with. With what little strength she had, weakened from the surgery and trauma, she scooted herself closer to him, raising her arms, wanting to be held. He maneuvered around her carefully so he could embrace her without forcing her to lay on her aching side. All her weight rested on her uninjured side now, sinking into the mattress and his warm hold on her. She would be fine in time, they both knew. She was incredibly grateful for this moment, for his presence, his peace, his ability to share trauma with her. Eventually her sharp breathing returned to normal, her chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm and he knew she was no longer hurting. As much as it pained him to see her hurt this way, as much as he wished no one ever had to have scars like him, there was no one else he would rather share scars with than her.


	11. Kaleidoscope

Kaleidoscope

He saw a different color every time he looked at her. She was yellow, bright and vibrant as she stood in the doorway of their room, carefully balancing a serving tray in her hands, grinning happily at her accomplishment, hair tangled, sticking up in the back, curls scattered wildly as she brought him the tray of breakfast food, setting it on his lap, bouncing with pure joy. The toast was burnt, the pieces charred in various spots, the bacon was chewy, the eggs had bits of shell in them which he casually pushed aside with his fork, hoping she wouldn't see. He finished every bite. She never stopped smiling.

She lay out a blanket in the back yard on a sunny day, smoothing out the edges delicately before laying down, beckoning him to join her, her _"pretty please?"_ irresistible. The sun lighting up her already bright hair, beams of gold bouncing off it when she moved. Once beside her, she rattled off every shape she saw in the puffy clouds trailing over them. "That ones a flower, oh and that ones a bunny how cute, what do you see?" He squinted to make out shapes but delighted her when he said, "A dog, a house, a monkey." She nuzzled against him. He melted.

They played catch with an old football he had in the garage. She tried to race past him and "score", but he caught her every time, scooping her up, spinning her around in a circle, her squeals of delight echoing in his ear, her laughter loud and hearty, he never wanted to let her down. She made him dizzy, even when they were not spinning around the yard.

He saw her turn red with anger, when a case didn't go her way. When Russell was getting on her nerves. When her team lost. Her face would flush, a red tint rising up in her cheeks. She frowned, piercing people with a devilish look of annoyance. Looks that could kill. She stomped her foot, crossed her arms, pouted, punched a locker. She sniffled when she broke the skin on her knuckles and they bled, requiring treatment from him and silent chastising for her rage. He took her to the batting cages one evening to let off steam. She used all her force to swing the bat and hit every single ball with fury. He could hear the echo of the bat cracking against the ball every time she made contact. It was a thunderous sound that rattled his chest, her sly grin making his heart skip a beat.

When she was blue, her eyes watered with tears, piercing him with a look of desperation, searching for relief from whatever ailed her. She communicated with whimpers, wanting attention, affection, security. She would hide herself away in blankets, on the couch, in their bed, lights off or dimmed. She shut the world out, isolating herself to just him, ignoring her texts and social media. She pressed her forehead hard into his shoulder, closing her eyes, wishing she could disappear.

"I know," he soothed her with all he could; understanding what she craved, a place to seek shelter.

She glowed pink and purple when she was content. She scooped helpless worms off the sidewalk after the rain, placing them delicately in whatever patch of dirt she found first. She lay beside Sam on the floor on a lazy afternoon, gently petting his head, tapping his nose, smoothing his fur, basking in the warm sun with him, falling asleep in his oversized dog bed, one arm casually resting across his back. She hummed along to music while he drove, keeping one hand on her knee the entire ride. She built a blanket fort in the living room, stocking it with pillows from the couch and bedroom. They lay in it for hours, whispering whatever random thoughts popped into their heads. She was soft and delicate when she fell asleep, orange, warm, inviting, soothed.

She spun different colors every day, radiating, glimmering, shimmering. She was a rainbow, a rare sight, but always beautiful. She captivated his attention with the simplest actions.


	12. Lace

Lace

He had no doubt in his mind that today was the perfect day. The best day of his life. They wed, surrounded by friends and colleagues, impromptu, in the Russell's lavish garden back yard. They danced wildly in the driveway. Posed for pictures in the garden, overwhelmed with flowers; daisies, lilacs, wildflowers, roses. She held his hand for an entire hour, from dancing to the photo shoot, to simply walking around thanking everyone for their love and support.

Now he found himself tired from the events of the day, but over the moon smitten with her as she continued to dance. He observed her from a bench perched in the garden, twirling herself in circles, hair flying around her face, her laugh the loudest of anyone else's. She paused in her spirited high to adjust the necklace she was wearing. She used one hand to lift her hair aside and pull at the tangled silver jewel. After a minute or so of struggling, she glanced around, searching for something, spotting him seated on the bench and beaming. She meandered over to him, tiptoeing barefoot around the stone path, having taken her high heels off to dance better. She reached him, grinning as she took her usual comfort spot in his lap. When she settled, she grabbed the hem of her pink pleated dress and adjusted it over her knees where it landed perfectly, one hand still clutching the necklace.

"Can you help me with this?" she asked, "it's all tangled up and I can't reach."

She pouted and he melted.

"Sure," he said reaching for the tangled chain. He found the knot and began twisting at it carefully. She let her hand slip now that he had a secure hold on the necklace. His fingers grazed her skin as he attempted to fix the chain, each touch making her stomach tingle. She would gladly tangle up every single necklace she owned if it meant having his hands on her. She closed her eyes as he worked, and he knew this was her ulterior motive for coming over here. He took his time, giving her what she wanted, his fingers brushing against her neck delicately, purposefully sliding his fingers down her shoulder to make her shiver. He regretted finally untangling the necklace, but he helped her adjust it, letting his fingers linger on her neck just a few seconds longer.

"There," he said, "all better."

"Thanks," she sighed, leaning back in his arms, her perfume reaching him, the smell of lilac and lily, sweet and delicate, intoxicating.

There was something so calming about sitting here on this garden bench, dressed in a suit and tie and her in _that _dress she spent months picking out, watching their friends celebrate around them. It was a long time coming. Contentedness, their forte. As she rested her head on his shoulder, he took notice of the silvery floral headband Barbara Russell had carefully tucked in around her numerous curls prior to the ceremony. It sparkled in the evening sun. He wrapped one arm lazily around her, letting his hand come to rest on her knee, squeezing it once. She shifted in his lap, the pressure of his hand on her knee soothing. She felt his fingers begin to circle her knee delicately, brushing against the silky lace fabric of her dress, the fabric tickling her bare skin. He loved the softness of the material. It was the perfect look for her; bright, sparkly, vibrant, lively, beautiful. He took note of the floral lace pattern woven into the dress delicately, each unique detail more beautiful than the last. When his hand found her side and squeezed, the lack of material between his hand and her skin made her squirm, ticklish. She giggled and snuggled against him, the fabric of his suit soft and warm. Her hand found his resting still on her knee. She covered her hand gently over his, playing absentmindedly with the ring on his finger, the ring she had given him only hours ago, grinning, smitten at the memory so fresh in her mind. She could stay in this garden forever, in this dress, with him, ignoring the rest of the world. He found her forehead to kiss, then her shoulder, whispering a single "I love you" in her ear and she knew it, deep in her heart and her soul, he found _her, _what she always wanted, someone who loved her as she was. His fingers found their way to her side again, tracing the lace flower pattern over and over. She was done, sinking into paradise, floating away, lost at sea, never to return.


	13. Midnight

Midnight

It was a dark, damp warehouse, where a flashlight beam darted across the room. It was her, tucking falling strands of her hair behind her ear. A trail of blood leading into a hallway. A dark alley with dumpsters just waiting to be combed for evidence. It was eye rubs, squinting to see what was in front of her. It was a cell phones blue light, illuminating the entire room. Yawns, grumbles, groggy voices. A pizza box on the table with a few slices missing, napkins bunched up in a pile on empty paper plates.

Her arms stretched over her head, touching the headboard, falling on to the pillows, exhaustion, her hair pooling on dull gray sheets. The way she knelt down to swab at blood stains, shoot photos, the bright light flashing in his eyes each time she snapped one, the delicate way she lay out her note cards on the Formica, shifting them up and down, side to side, biting her tongue, her cheek, her lip, concentration.

Burying her face straight into the pillow, warm. Her plea of "_five more minutes?"_ muffled from where she hid. The way she slipped her latex gloves over her hands, rummaging through her silver kit on the ground beside her. The notebook filling with her thoughts and words, flowing from her racing mind. His eyes stealing glances back at her wherever she roamed, partly for wanting to protect her, partly from just wanting to watch her, careful to shift his gaze elsewhere whenever an officer came by or Greg or Russell or whomever was with them got close.

The soft sigh she let out while she slept, involuntary whimpers the results of bad dreams. He wondered if she knew of these sounds, or were they just for his ears? An alarm clock blinking the time, midnight, always. If he smashed it into a thousand pieces for disturbing her slumber, would it be justified?

The smell of burning rubber, tires squealing in the distance, a train whistle echoing further out. Heat lightning in the sky above their heads. Sand and dust coating their shoes and hiking boots. Her tired shriek in protest of his fingers pinching her sides when she refused to get out of bed. The way she rolled over, taking the covers with her, leaving the sheets wrinkled where she rested all night. Sirens. Blue and red lights. Sometimes they were so far out from the city they could see stars. She always looked up, tilting her head towards the sky, her mind concocting some fantasy world, an island, isolated, warm, just like their bed.

She stuck one leg out from under the covers, sometimes daring to dangle it over the edge of the bed. Bruises and scrapped knees, casualties of the job and her sports. She whined when he scratched her back to get her moving, tugging the covers away from her body, her grumbling and blind reaching for them her only defense in her tired state. A half asleep, half-awake kiss, easy, slow, his favorite kind. Promising to snuggle extra with her once the shift was over. A pleading, desperate, soft "_take me home"_. The bumpy ride back to the city jostling her stomach. The florescent light of the labs burning their eyes. Swabs, test tubes, bells and whistles, too much at this hour. Graveyard starting to get on his nerves after all these years. Perhaps it was simply her. He had no reason to stay in bed when called away for work. Now her presence, even asleep was enough to soothe his restless soul. Her spirit reawakened him, even if it had to be at the ungodly hour of midnight.


	14. Nudge

Nudge

"Are you starting a case or finishing one?" he asked, quietly from their secret spot in the corner of the station, his arm up, hand resting on the wall, blocking her as best as he could from onlookers.

"Just starting," she said, cradling his free hand in hers, playing with the sleeve of his leather jacket absentmindedly "you?"

"Just wrapped mine," he told her softly, crushing both their souls.

"Damn," she cursed their bad luck at being separated for work yet again.

"I'm going to be so bored," she complained, drawing out the last syllable in "bored" to a whine.

"Hang tight sweetness," he encouraged her "Russell's bound to stick us together again soon."

"I guess," she said, letting his hand fall from hers and leaning against the wall, crossing her arms in annoyance of their predicament.

He glanced around now for any onlookers, shifting how he stood to block her from the view of any passersby before pressing a kiss to her forehead, exactly what she wanted. Her smug, satisfied grin told him he had successfully read her mind for the millionth time. There were not enough kisses in the world to spoil her with but he sure as heck had to try. Her cell phone buzzing an incoming text message made her sigh and steal a glance at it.

"I have to go," she said in a disappointed tone, sticking the phone in her back jeans pocket, his heart racing at that motion.

"Text me when you're free again," he said raising his hand to a fist for their usual, neutral, unsuspicious fist bump goodbye.

"Always," she said, raising her hand, curling it into a fist like he did and bumping her knuckles against his. Even that simple short touch was driving her crazy.

Desperate for more contact but stuck in their predicament, she started walking away from him, bumping her shoulder playfully against his as she left. The contact shocked him, it was playful, he wanted more. She stole a glance back at him as she walked away to see his reaction, wearing that smug, silly grin on her face when she saw his dopey eyes gaze back at her. She turned her head and giggled into her hand like some teenage girl with her first crush. He was magic.

It instantly became their new parting gesture. He would pretend to stand in her way from leaving the breakroom, the locker room, some part of the lab and she would make herself taller, standing on her toes to achieve that, creating more force when she launched her shoulder hard against his. Sometimes her force was enough to knock him back a few steps. Other times it pushed her back. They _loved_ this rush. Her cheeks turned red if someone else was close by and they were testing to see if they picked up on the contacts true meaning. Usually it was met with funny looks of confusion. Even the zen master Russell was immune to its charm. It was another little secret they could share, and her heart fluttered faster every time the opportunity presented itself.

In the parking lot, switching cars or sharing rides, she nudged him, her hair bouncing with each movement. Coming on and off shifts, a quick nudge in between lab techs and CSI's coming and going down the hallway. Walking away from crime scenes to put evidence in the car, another nudge, in their jumpers processing that fire, when the chief wasn't looking, the fool daring to flirt with her, asking Nick if he was fully aware of just how hot his partner was; oh, he knew.

She had to nudge him out of her condo one morning when they both overslept and missed Russell's call. He needed time to get back to his own place to change and get to the scene at a different time than her. But he was too busy kissing her neck, a desperate attempt to keep them both in her bed. Her giggles and weak protest of "Don't" meant nothing to him. The way she curled up and leaned into him meant she didn't want to leave either. But they had to, and when she broke free from his arms, and started to get ready for the shift, he sighed and reluctantly followed her. In the doorway of her condo, dressed, but still with messy hair from his hands running through it, she nudged his shoulder, whispering "Soon, I promise," his heart must have beat a thousand times in that moment.

On the couch at his place, when they watched TV, she nudged him when she wanted to be held, sometimes skipping that playful nudge altogether and simply lifting his arm herself and settling against him. She was sweeter than sugar. When she was tired, she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, a lure to get them both into bed faster, squealing when he dropped everything to scoop her up and carry her there.

The suspect held them both at gunpoint. Brass took him down within minutes, wounding him so they could still interrogate him for information regarding their case. She disappeared after that, and he worried she had taken off in distress. He searched frantically for her around the dark streets near the scene, finding her up against one of the police cruisers blocking the street from traffic.

"You okay?" he asked so quietly it made her jump then whimper when she realized it was only him.

"I'm fine," she said through angry gritted teeth, folding her arms against her for warmth, comfort, some support he didn't know.

"We got him," he said, wanting to be assuring.

"Yeah," she said glancing around for any more potential danger, her heart beating faster from the night's events.

She wanted to hug him so bad in this moment. She wanted him to lift her up and take her away from this terrifying place. But there were cops everywhere, Brass was with the suspect, he would be looking for them to take their statements any minute now. She cried in frustration, her stomach hurting, aching for something, an escape, a comfort, _anything._

"It's okay," he assured her, knowing that was pathetic and weak, wanting more, his arms around her, her face in his chest, a private place to hide with her. Being strong was a real pain sometimes.

"I know that," she sniffled "but it's not _fair_."

He knew she meant the nights events and the way they had to be so distant right now. She glanced around, hopping up and down with indecision, finding her moment, then nudging him, bumping his shoulder with hers, pushing her forehead against him, her hair falling to hide her face, a tiny sob escaping her. It took all the self-control he had not to wrap his arms around her right then and there. _Later, later_, he kept telling himself but hated that wretched voice with a burning passion. Instead, he forced himself to keep his arms immobile at his side, hands stuffed in his pockets, lifting his head to see if anyone was watching them from behind, her hair tickling his chin when he moved, damn these rules. The longer she kept her head pressed against his shoulder, the greater risk they took, but after tonight's close call with death, did he really give a damn? Against every single rule they had put in place when they started seeing each other, he raised one hand and let it rest on top of her head, patting it once, but that was not enough, not nearly close to the amount of comfort she deserved. Before he could stop himself, he was stroking her hair the way she liked.

She was not surprised by his response. They had a way with each other. She could make him melt at any given time and he made her feel safer than she ever had in her entire life. The kiss he placed on top of her head a moment later made her entire body tremble. She barely had time to take it in and enjoy it when he whispered frantically "Brass is coming" and she pulled away from him, reluctantly, lifting her head, wiping her eyes hastily with the sleeve of her jacket, her hair matted from where she had lay her head on his shoulder. It was like seeing her first thing in the morning with those messy curls.

"You guys okay?" Brass asked, looking more towards her than him.

"Fine," she mumbled still choking on tears, Brass misunderstanding the real reason for her emotions.

"You should call it a night," Brass suggested "clock out, deal with this scum tomorrow, you got all your evidence and hell will freeze over before he posts bail."

She looked up at Nick with a hopeful gaze, had good luck struck them after all?

"Thanks Jim," Nick said, backing slowly away and back towards his SUV which luckily, they had drove together to this scene.

She followed him, keeping her arms crossed in defense, shakily climbing into the passenger side of the SUV. They shut the doors at the same time, glancing at each other, stunned but relieved. He watched her bottom lip tremble, her resolve fading as she leaned over the arm rest, letting her head fall onto his shoulder again and sobbing. He sighed, raised his hand and let it rest on top of her head again, starting the car and driving away, finally, _finally_ saving her from this hell, saving himself from having to keep denying her affection. The lights from the city blurred his tired eyes and her tear-filled ones. He kept the radio off, the windows rolled up. Privacy their favorite thing. They were home in less than ten minutes.


	15. Over

Over

"What the hell is this?" she snapped holding up a white envelope and a folded-up piece of paper.

He squinted from where he sat on the couch watching football to see what was in her hand, but she had already ripped it open and started reading the contents of the paper inside.

"Dear Mr. Stokes," she began "we have accepted your offer and look forward to working with you in the coming months, please complete the entry forms online at the below website and we will begin transitioning you to the San Diego facility, if you have any questions please give us a call." Sincerely, San Diego Police Department, Special Crimes Unit."

She uttered the last words in an icy tone, her voice getting choked up with emotions. Shit, he thought to himself.

"Oh," he said "that, well um, you see its-"

"You're leaving!" she howled at him now before he could finish his sentence.

"No," he said defensively, sitting up on the couch "not yet I mean, well."

"What the hell Nicky?" she snapped at him again "a _transfer_?" What about Vegas and Russell and everyone here, what about _me?_"

"Listen, it's not like that," he tried to explain, standing up and going over to her, reaching for the letter which she held away from him and he didn't dare try and take it from her now.

"What is it then?" she asked "are you bored here? Is it the same crap from a few years ago when McKeen was threatening us?"

"No," he said, shrugging off how she referred to his quitting back in two thousand twelve as "crap", "it's a great opportunity there and I'd be with the special ops who send people undercover, it's less field work for me and more, supervising people."

"Okay," she said starting to calm down a little "but, I still don't understand why?"

"Change of pace I guess," he said shrugging "the director offered it to me a few weeks ago when he was here trying to help his daughter and I finally worked up the nerve to apply and they sent me that a few days ago, that's all."

She nodded, still convinced something strange was going on.

"So, you haven't said yes yet," she said with hopeful eyes and when he did not answer her back, she started to feel anger bubble up inside her again.

"I go for a tour and an in person interview next week," he said, "and if it goes well, I can start in June."

Her heart plummeted into her stomach. He was really going to leave. She stood there, breathing heavy, feeling like the world was crashing around her. People changed jobs all the time, why did it matter what he did? They had finally seemed to be settled in their life and relationship and now this.

"But listen," he continued when she didn't speak, stepping close to her "this doesn't change anything about us."

"How do you figure that?" she snapped sarcastically.

""Come with me" he said putting his hands on her shoulders "to California, we can both work there, it'll be great, just the two of us, no rules about how we date, it can be a fresh start for us, what do you say babe?"

She pierced him with tear filled eyes, stepping closer and hugging him, her face going right into his chest. She loved him with all her heart and soul. She was proud of who he had become in their short time of being together. She loved watching him light up when they were together. But in this moment, she was heartbroken at what he was offering her.

"It's a great job Nicky," she said muffled "really, it is, and I'm happy for you, you deserve this job."

He hugged her back, relieved that she was understanding at last. But she broke away from him, pulling back, lifting her head and looking at him with her eyes filled with tears.

"Vegas is my home," she cried "I love it here, I just started to feel like I belonged, I can't uproot everything I've worked for, not now and I don't think ever."

She pushed her forehead hard against his chest, sobbing. His heart plummeted into his stomach. She was turning him down, turning down a chance at a better life. How could she do this? After all they worked through, after all they had struggled together with, attacks, violence, injuries, healing, growth, she was taking it all away. She put her face in her hands and turned away from him so she wouldn't have to look at him.

"Don't do this," he pleaded softly with her, but she had lifted her head again, piercing him with a heartbreaking gaze, beginning to walk backwards away from him. She walked backwards into the foyer, sniffling as she blindly stepped into her shoes, reaching up for her purse and her keys, turning towards the door.

In the second it took him to realize what she was doing, he also realized she was acting selfish. Didn't he deserve a second chance with a new job? She wasn't even willing to try and make this work. It was not fair to him.

"I'd do it for you," he bit back one last retort, choking back his own tears "I'd go to the ends of the Earth for you in a heartbeat darling."

She froze at his words, they stabbed at her heart, piercing the already broken pieces. She fought the urge to run, looking back at him instead and uttering "I wouldn't ask you to," before slipping out of the house and out of his life, the final straw snapped in half before him making him throw the letter to the ground, watching it flutter on to the kitchen floor where she stood just seconds ago.


	16. Pizza

Pizza

"I'm hungry" she complained softly from her bed.

He adjusted the volume on the TV, sitting up in his chair to face her. She was slouching on the pillows, clutching the soft stuffed animal dog he had purchased for her a few days ago when she first woke up and they all calmed down and stopped bombarding her with questions and medical tests. When he held it out to her, she snatched it immediately from him and hugged it tight to her chest, her eyes lighting up with joy for the first time since she woke up. She had not let it go since, carrying it with her to every exam, clinging tightly to it while she slept, and now she had wrapped her arm around it lazily, playing with one of the paws absentmindedly in her hand. She pierced him with a sad look, unsure how to express herself after what she endured. When she did ask for something, he was right there ready to help her.

"What would you like?" he asked, turning off the TV to focus on her completely.

"Pizza," she said without hesitation, not a single reservation in her tone.

"All right," he said pressing the call button to summon a nurse.

With the uncertainties of the coma, her appetite came and went at different times, usually not within the realms of the hospitals dining schedule. So, paging someone when she did feel hungry was the only option. Elaine had been the nurse assigned to her since February when she was first brought here after the violent attack. Julie trusted her alongside Dr. King so when Elaine stepped into the room, Julie smiled.

"What can I get for you darling?" she asked.

"Pizza please." Julie said happily.

"Sorry honey but not just yet," Elaine explained, and Julie frowned, confused "it's only been a week, Dr. King wants you on a specific diet to get your body used to food again slowly, how about some soup?"

"No thanks," Julie said, feeling disheartened by the strict diet, wishing she could go home with every fiber of her soul.

"Are you sure?" Nick asked, "you need to eat."

"Later," she scoffed, turning and hiding into her pillows, clutching the stuffed dog tighter, feeling a weight on her chest, too many emotions fighting for the top spot.

"Just holler if you change your mind," Elaine said, backing out of the room, sensing the tension and understanding Julies frustration and desire to go home.

When she was gone, Nick reached out for Julie, squeezing her knee in a show of comfort.

"Sorry sweetness," he said, hating to see her denied yet another joy she was used to having before this coma.

"It's just pizza," she said sniffling, but he knew it was more than that.

It was normalcy, it was independence, it was being who she was before this happened. It was a life not filled with bruises and cuts and tests and hospitals. It was time she didn't have to spend here in this white sterile building, being poked and prodded and asked questions about her life, painful physical therapy that made her cry until she worked every muscle back to normal. She was pushing herself extra hard so she could go home sooner but that only caused her more pain and forced Dr. King to reduce her therapy sessions until she learned not to push too hard. Tears of frustration were let out almost hourly and she moved restlessly in her bed when she was not doing therapy. Her hands developed a tremble when she tried to write or hold things by herself. It was a life not spent worrying about a serial killer hunting her down and hurting her again. It was not terrified screams in the middle of the night, nor fear of the dark which had intensified since the attack. It was not crippling headaches that left her sobbing into her pillows in the dark, gripping the blankets, waiting desperately for the IV medicine to take hold and relieve her excruciating pain or put her to sleep, whichever came first she didn't care.

She stayed quiet now, hurting, emotions eating at her, her head filled with thoughts she could not express all at once. He hated seeing her like this, as happy as he was to have her back, this was not the Julie he knew. He was used to seeing her bounce when she walked, now she needed his arm and the walls and handles for support. He missed her energy, how she pulled triple shifts, danced around their room, jumped on the bed. Now she barely moved and was exhausted, sleeping longer than normal. One thing that had not been robbed from her was her vibrant curls. He could still run his fingers through them to soothe her during her moments of distress. He reached up with his other hand to sweep her hair back and look into her eyes which held a gaze of obvious emotional pain. The longer he spent looking at her, the more his heart ached to give her some sense of normal life back. She would not be in this hospital forever, he knew, but he also knew how painful it was to not be yourself. Several times in the hospital over the course of his life taught him this painful lesson. He went crazy every time, the noise, the bright lights, the lack of privacy, the constant barrage of nurses asking about how he felt, in some instances the psychological therapy required afterwards before being discharged was even more intrusive and bothersome than the physical discomforts. He remembered pining for his own bed, his own couch, everything waiting for him at home. He feared what would happen to her emotionally if she was forced to endure the same rigorous torture and if she would put up a fight or shut down completely.

Suddenly a spark of an idea hit him. He gave her hair one final sweep, kissing her forehead, ruffling the stuffed dogs head and telling her "I'll be right back okay?"

"Okay," she sighed sadly, knowing there was no place else for her to go and all she could do was wait for him.

She didn't even know how much time had passed, she didn't care, time stood still in this ridiculous place. She didn't have the nerve to move at all during his absence until she heard the prompt shutting of the door to her room. She turned her head and notice him frantically shutting the windows blinds.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a groggy voice.

He didn't speak, he simply turned around, carrying a cardboard box of pizza from one of the chain restaurants they frequented and grinning smugly.

"What did you do?" she asked sitting up in bed in shock.

"Doing what you would do if it were me," he explained "breaking the rules, defining authority."

She smiled, wide, the biggest smile he had seen from her since waking up. He wheeled the tiny food cart over to her bed, setting the box down and began dishing out slices for them to eat. He gave her one piece to start, all cheese, her favorite. She waved her hands impatiently at him, reaching out for the plate eagerly. He served her the slice and she began to eat, slowly, but seemingly normal. He sat back in the chair with his slice, watching her eat, turning the TV back on to drown out the sound of their eating in case anyone was walking by to check on her. They both knew this was not good to disobey the doctor's orders, but she was fine, if she ate carefully, she would never get used to her favorite foods again without introducing them sometime. Any stomachache later on would be worth it in her mind just to be able to taste something that was not hospital food. And the combination of the cheese, sauce and bread was just the hearty thing she needed after eating bland for so long.

As they ate, she joked about the lame show they were watching, her legs moving restlessly under the covers. It was a glimpse at the real her, the real her trying to sort through this coma mess and come back to the world. The pizza was only four slices and they devoured them all. He quietly snuck out of the room to dispose of the box and plates and napkins in a trash far away from her room. When he returned, she was settling back on her pillows, looking tired.

"How was that?" he asked her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Perfect," she sighed, "thank you."

He saw tears of gratitude building in her eyes.

"Anything for you babe," he said, grinning as she rubbed her eyes.

"Sleepy?" he asked, and she nodded, laying back further in the bed.

"Tuck me in please?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am," he obliged, arranging the blankets around her tight and cozy just the way she liked it. He watched her squirm to get comfortable, curling her arms up to rest against her chest. He picked up the stuffed dog, making it dance around in front of her before making it playfully kiss her cheek. Her giggles melted him, it had been so long since he heard them, it was like beginning a new relationship with her, starting all over, it was both a curse and a blessing. He kept making the dog dance in front of her until she reached for it, wanting to hold it. He set it down gently on her stomach and she scooped it up, cradling it in her arms. After all she had been through, she had not lost her innocence and pure joy at the everyday moments like this.

"Will you stay until I fall asleep?" she asked now, another request she had asked for since waking up.

"Until they kick me out," he promised, leaning in to kiss her forehead, her gaze no longer heavy or sad but content, if that word even existed in her world now.

It would all come back in time, he knew as he watched her settle, close her eyes and drift off to sleep. But for now, this was going to have to be their normal, and knowing her, she would come back swinging, taking a chainsaw to the coma and its affects; with her strength and endurance, it never stood a chance.


	17. Queen

Queen

Nick held on to the sealed clear plastic evidence bag containing a single copper coin, the tiny object that had broken this case wide open, but he did not feel good about solving this one at all. Franks Diner was his favorite places to go, well one of them at least, and now that had been tarnished and shattered with Vincent, one of the owners being arrested for trying to kill his brother and instead turning the diner into a blood bath.

Nick didn't want to believe someone he knew for years was a killer, capable of such a methodical and disturbing act, yet he was the one who found the piece of evidence that he currently held in his hand. Technically it was a team effort, Finn had dusted the newspaper stand and noticed it was jammed up which led them to taking it apart. A series of actions causing a ripple effect on the case and also on his emotional well-being. After all these years, the diner would likely be closed down or sold to someone who would not keep up with its original nostalgic feel.

This was the cause of his anguish as he sat in the lobby of PD, staring at the coin inside the bag, hating himself for ever finding it yet knowing the truth was imperative. It was a constant struggle when cases like this happened, doing the right thing yet being torn about the actions of the suspects or victims. But this was the job he signed up for and this is what he had to do.

He was lost in thought about Vincent and the case, therefore when she sat down beside him, he only half acknowledged her.

"Hey," she said, much to cheerfully considering what happened today, but it wasn't her fault, she didn't spend time at the diner, there was no nostalgia for her, that pained him in the moment also.

"Hey," he murmured back, still staring at the coin.

"That's too bad about Vincent," she said, "I saw the interrogation, his own brother?"

She shook her head and even though he wasn't looking at her, he could visualize her curls moving when she did.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed, blankly, too quiet.

She peered over his shoulder at the evidence bag he was holding.

"It's lucky you remembered the coin thing behind the counter," she said, "otherwise he would have gotten away with it."

"Would that have been so bad?" he asked, looking at her for the first time during this conversation.

"You_ want_ Vincent to get away with murder?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow in concern.

"No," he admitted sheepishly "just wish we didn't have to be involved you know, why is it always someone or someplace we know or go to?"

"That's the job Nicky," she said, her only explanation for the pain life threw at them.

She feared he was having second thoughts about the job again so soon after the McKeen incident.

He shook his head, unable to accept that answer.

"That place was one of the only safe places we had," he continued "we ate there all the time, talked cases, just relaxed, it was untouchable you know?"

She stayed silent, unsure how to respond.

"Not anymore," he concluded "no place is safe anymore."

He was unraveling with his guilt, sadness, frustration over people getting hurt so close to home. But what was home to him? He had been here for so long, bouncing between cases and different co-workers, losing a lot of himself when he was hurt, close to death. She didn't know how to make him feel better in this moment and that made her feel like a failure as his girlfriend, or whatever they were since they didn't officially say it but wasn't it true? In her mind it felt like it, but it had been so long since she had been with someone long term. Was she even capable of being that to him? This moment was certainly testing her. Worse still, was the joking way in which they had found that coin. He asked her if she needed a quarter for the broken machine, she laughed, told him he was funny, smirked, shared _that _look, genuine smiles. It made her heart ache thinking of that moment happening only hours ago and now they had fallen into this tense moment. The longer they sat in silence, the more pain they were causing themselves.

"I know that place meant a lot to you," she began.

"Do you?" he questioned, stinging her soul with his harshness "I never saw you go in there until today, it was just another day at work for you, but those tables, that food, that's where I went with the guys, it was the last place we all saw Warrick alive, our last meal with him, he died in that alley, did you even know that? It's all so close yet so far away now."

"Nicky I'm sorry," she sympathized "I didn't know because, well, you don't tell me, and I'm not going to snoop a case file for information, not on someone you cared about." "And I guess I never went in there because I never paid attention, I'm trying to get better at that you know."

And she was. Paying attention to his feelings and emotions was new for her but she did care, she wanted to be part of his life but he kept shutting her out, lost in memories and desires of the past, of Warrick and Grissom and the team before she got here, before Russell and those little reminders, while comforting for him, made her feel unworthy of his time and his love.

"I can't change what happened to Warrick," she continued "but I wish I could, I _want_ to so badly, it _hurts_, I want to make that pain go away for you, but I just can't."

She leaned forward now, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, a soft affection.

"I was thinking we could go home and make dinner together," she whispered, nuzzling as she spoke "but, I can understand if you want to be alone, I'll be at my place if you change your mind."

As much as it pained her to get up and leave him, she did, crossing her arms, hugging herself, feeling a twinge of pain in her chest. Agony. She had never cared for someone so unique as him and in order to respect his feelings and emotions, she had to hurt herself. She had only taken a few steps when she heard him call for her "Hey,"

She turned and he was right there.

"Don't," he said now, tears in his eyes "don't go."

"But," she began, struggling to explain his sudden change of heart.

"I am so sick and tired of beating myself up," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders "I push people away and I end up alone, always, I don't want that anymore."

She stared at him, unsure what else to say.

"I know you wish you could change things for me," he continued "I _love _that about you, and as sweet of a thought as it is, if things were different, if Warrick was still here, and Grissom and everyone, you wouldn't be and baby I don't think I could handle that."

He shook his head as he spoke, realizing just how much she meant to him. Camaraderie with his friends and co-workers was incredible but her love was overpowering, her kindness, her gentle soul, the way she spoke to him, she was tender, affectionate, soft and he was hopelessly, over the moon, crazy in love with her. It was time to come out of the darkness, he had been in there long enough, gotten too comfortable in his ways, so used to pain. But here she was, offering him a life jacket, a way out, a journey into the sun and he wanted that one-way ticket.

Her silence was mostly out of shock at his change in mood so quickly but also at how he was not letting her go. She had walked away from many relationships and no one ever came running after her, except him.

"So, what do we do now?" she asked, her eyes blinking back tears, unsure but knowing in her heart she wanted to be close to him.

"Nothing," he said embracing her at last "absolutely nothing, lets just, be together, be close, be us, how about that?"

She nodded against his chest where she had buried her face, trying to hide the tiny sob that escaped her, his response was to tighten his arms around her, wanting to protect her, they didn't need any more pain in their lives, and he was not going to let her suffer because of him and his indecisiveness. He had never been in a more emotional yet stable, safe relationship than right now, with her.

The sound of footsteps approaching made them separate, glancing around nervously, but relieved when no one approached them or saw them hugging only seconds before.

"Come on," he said quietly to her, reaching his hand out for her "let's go home."

They secured the coin back into the evidence locker along with the rest of the crime scene's evidence before walking out of the lab, next to each other but far apart enough so no one would suspect anything. She could not resist stretching her hand out, grazing her fingers against his as they walked, a delicate, light touch, a ghostly way to hold hands without giving away their secret. It wasn't until they were safe in his car that he held her hand properly, kissing her fingers as he drove, pausing in between kisses to run his thumb over her knuckles.

They spent the rest of their night off on the couch, being lazy, watching TV, snuggled up, sharing two blankets. They lay in silence mostly until he expressed a thought, he had to tell her before the moment passed.

"I wanted to take you there," he explained quietly in the semi dark living room "to the diner, as a first date kind of thing, once we decided to tell everyone, if ever, or not, either way, that's what I wanted to do."

And if her heart could beat its way out of her chest, it just might have in that moment. He wanted to share that place with her, share his memories and make a new one, invite her into his world a little bit at a time.

"That would have been really nice," she said quietly, matching his tone, reaching for his hand to hold now, bringing it up to her face and nuzzling against him. She started to imagine that date, sitting across from him in those cozy little booths, sharing a milkshake or devouring French fries or pizza, her favorite. They would have looked like a typical couple, being all cute and sweet instead of two people surrounded by death and destruction daily. It was nice to imagine that moment, knowing they would and still could share a dinner like that but the place not nearly as significant as Frank's Diner would have been to him.

That fantasy lulled her to sleep faster than she expected. He continued to hold her, loving how she held on to his hand as long as she could before exhaustion overcame her, her grip loosening and her hand slipping from his. He made the conscious effort to keep his hand on her cheek, caressing it gently. She turned her head, half asleep, leaning into the affection, eventually sliding down in his arms, her head coming to rest on his chest, nuzzling to get comfortable, rubbing her cheek against his shirt, the fabric soft and warm. Her sleepy mood beginning to affect him now as he sunk further into the couch, exhausted, but relieved. He was not a gambler, Warrick taught him enough about that world to last him a lifetime, but, as he watched over her, settling for sleep himself, he would have liked to place a bet on the odds he would ever have been this happy. He would have lost to his own ego, the deck finally stacked in his favor, and he won, winning with the queen of hearts.


	18. Reunion

Reunion

The full moon mocked them as they pulled up in the dark parking lot, filling up with cars rapidly. He had to push a little harder on the brakes to make them stay in place, his fathers old pick up truck rickety and rusty yet still drivable. Nick had asked for the nice, shiny, new SUV his parents owned, sitting right beside this old piece of junk in the driveway but no, they insisted he drive his old ride, keeps him humble, reminds him of his roots and all the hard work it took to get to where he is now. All it garnered him was looks from his classmates as he exited the vehicle.

He sighed, facing the brick building, the banner "Welcome Class of 89" hanging over the entryway, also mocking him. He remained rooted to the spot, unable to push his feet forward until he felt her beside him, tugging gently on his arm to get his attention.

"Ready?" she asked, and he shook his head. She knew he was struggling to process this invite, the pressure from his parents building, make an appearance, it looks good for the family, bring _her_ along if you must. The way his father referred to Julie made his blood boil. He felt her link her arm around his now and lean her head on his shoulder.

"It'll be fine, I promise," she soothed him, her voice unnatural to the place he spent four years trying to figure out who he was.

"I guess," he said, beginning to take a few steps towards the front doors with her encouragement.

She was nervous yet curious to be here with him in this moment. People were already drunk, laughing loudly, their voices cutting through the muggy Texas air. Her high heels clicked loudly on the asphalt, her legs shaking, likely to give out from under her but she had to hold steady for his sake. They proceeded up the stone steps to the arched double doors, the loud thump of music echoing in their ears as they walked through. There was a DJ, streamers hanging over the walls and doors, balloons in red, white and black, obviously the school colors. People were flocking to a series of folding tables draped in plastic cloths, also red and black, where an assortment of nametag stickers were lined up. Nick took his time approaching the table, halfheartedly scanning the stickers for his name.

"Oh no, I don't see it," he said mock disappointed, "must be the wrong year."

"Nick," Julie scolded him of his immature tactic, taping her finger on the sticker with his name she spotted instantly to his dismay.

"My bad," he apologized to the poor disgruntled person working the table. He snatched up the sticker and smacked it over dramatically on his chest, the suit coat and tie he was wearing was unbearably itchy in this stuffy, non-air-conditioned building. He could feel sweat on the back of his neck and on his forehead. Yet she stood beside him looking flawless and smelling like flowers, likely some perfume she saved for occasions like this. She held his hand, a welcoming comfort as they proceeded into the gymnasium where the majority of the crowd and music was coming from.

He barely had time to take it all in when voices were calling to him and they were descended upon by a group of friends he knew and played football with in his four years here. Their wives and a few female classmates he remembered were also bombarding them. Happy cheers, hugs, cries of "It's been so long!" "You look so good!" on and on assaulting the senses. Julie got pushed back somewhat and she was left to hover while he was surrounded by his friends and classmates. His replies to them were generic; "Hey guys, long time no see, yeah that was a crazy game, I didn't think we'd make a comeback either."

Football dominated the majority of his life from age fourteen to seventeen, it was obvious from the back slaps and toast of beer bottles clinking together and loud laughter from the five men surrounding them while their wives giggled at their husbands' shenanigans. The spouses seemed to already know each other quite well, making her feel even more out of place. After a few minutes of catching up, Nick looked back for Julie, desperate, taking her hand and pulling her forward into the madness. She could barely hear him mumble her introduction as his girlfriend; the word setting off the wives into a fury of mumbling and little jabs of "Oh Nick, still haven't settled yet." She watched his face start to turn red with embarrassment, but she was helpless at what to say.

When the chatter turned to talk of families, the guys boasted about coaching their kids football teams, baseball, soccer, while the wives were catty about their office job, gossip, hair and nails, shoes, makeup, horseback riding, it was definitely Texas. Julie could not relate to anything being said and felt like a moron for just smiling and nodding. If this was what it took to survive the night, then so be it.

"No kids for you yet sweetheart?" one of the wives addressed her or Nick, she honestly couldn't tell due to the condescension and southern drawl.

"Nah we're good," Nick answered before she could "that ship has sailed, but we have Sam, he's out German Shepard, police dog, retired, absolute maniac, show them Jules."

It was the first time he had ever called her Jules and she felt fake. She knew he was trying to show off by giving her some classy fancy nickname and make it seem natural, but it seemed to cause him a great deal of pain based off the expression on his face after he spoke. She clumsily scrolled through photos of Sam on her cell phone which did not garner nearly as big a reaction as Marlene's daughters winning goal or Todd's son's science fair project winning first place. This was not going so well.

Julie tried as hard as she could to slip away with Nick over to the snack table, but the group was like a shark attack, endlessly asking questions, poking, prodding, eating them up alive. Then one of Nick's football buddies said the words that made her heart sink into her stomach.

"Hey man, I saw you online a few times, news and stuff coming out of Vegas, I had a business trip there in 05 and bumped into your parents, they said some psycho had kidnapped you and buried you alive, what kind of crazy shit is that?"

Julie squeezed Nick's arm as hard as she could, wishing so badly she could take him away from all this madness, hating that they ever had to come here, regretting her positive attitude in the weeks leading up to it.

"Oh that," Nick said running his hand over the back of his head, nervously "that was a long time ago."

"Yeah but you survived bro," his friend continued "you should write a book or something, teach people how to survive stuff like that, or about catching perps."

"It's not all that glamorous, really." Nick said, shrugging, hating to downplay the job he loved.

"Oh Julie, you work with Nick, don't you?" Marlene started up again "that must be fun, getting to see each other every day, that's how you met isn't it?"

"Well Nick's mostly in San Diego and I'm in Vegas, but yes, that's how we met," Julie explained, hating to detail the private part of their life, even though it seemed like simple conversation, she didn't want to share, and neither did Nick, making them different then these catty gossipy trolls. Some people really did never leave high school. They didn't understand the job, the heartbreak of death every day, the sweet relief justice brought, if only for a short time, the danger they put themselves in every day, the amount of times they got hurt doing this work. Marlene would likely cry if she saw a single drop of blood Julie processed for hours and Nick's football friend would never have survived one minute of what Nick endured in that box. She wanted so badly to scream these things for them all to hear but instead settled for "The job's not for everyone, it takes really strong people to do what we do, which is why we do it, it's really hard to find strong people these days."

She smirked, feeling smug for the first time since this powwow started. Nick gaped at her for a moment before also starting to smile but just a little.

Luckily the crowd had to disperse because dinner was going to be served as well as a slideshow of different pictures from the class and events that year. Nick was featured in many of the ones from football games and parties, Julie couldn't help but smile at how handsome he was. He seemed so strong and invincible, unaware of the horrors that lay ahead for them but also of the wonderful things his life had given him since graduation. She watched his face, his reactions, blinking, a twitch of his jaw, any shift in his posture and she knew a memory was being triggered in his mind. She felt an ache in her heart, wishing she could have known him back then, they could have had much more time together.

As she watched the slideshow and him, she wondered what they could have done with that extra time, would kids have been part of their lives? She shuddered at the thought of any kids they had running wild with Marlene's. But maybe, just maybe, they could have traveled more places together, not been bogged down by the weight of the job and his parents rejecting her for so long. She thought of herself at the tender age of eighteen, not really sure what to do but not quite ready to leave home so she settled for that library job and college at her father's school. The Seattle job so far off in the distance. It was that job and losing it that led her to Nick. A blessing in disguise.

After the slide show, the class president organized a silly game for students and teachers only, so the spouses were left to disperse and gossip. Julie didn't want to leave Nick but he seemed to have forgotten she was there when he traipsed forward to participate in the game. Left to her own devices, she wandered the hallway outside the gym where the trophies and pictures line the glass cases and wall to ceiling frames. She scanned the photos for Nick, finding him in most of the football photos, next to cheerleaders and his coach and teammates, grinning, proud. As he should be. Her heels clicked and echoed on the tile floor but soon, a second set of clicks echoed along with hers. She turned and noticed the infamous Marlene strolling the hallway.

"Shouldn't you be playing the game?" Julie asked.

"Nah, those are lame," she said, waving her hand casually, rings and bracelets overwhelming her wrist and fingers.

"These were the good old days," she continued, walking alongside Julie.

"For some people," Julie said "not everyone can be a jock or a cheerleader."

"What about you?" Marlene asked, sickly sweet "you're not from around here, I can tell."

"Philadelphia, born and raised," Julie snapped back without thinking, cringing at how the phrase echoed that TV show theme song. Marlene continued to grin, wickedly.

"Nick was something wasn't he?" she sighed now, staring at the photos, lost in some memory.

"He certainly is," Julie said, using the present tense.

"You must know what he's been through, it's all his parents talked about with mine, with Rob's the whole town." Marlene continued.

"Like Nick said, that was a long time ago," Julie deflected.

"Not really, when you think about it," Marlene continued.

"Why does everyone dwell so much on the past around here?" Julie dared to ask, "shouldn't we, you know, grow up?"

"This is Texas honey," Marlene said, that wicked grin widening "there's a certain expectation around here, and when it's not met, people sort of just, fade away, no one expected that of Nick, but here we are."

"What, you guys have to take him out back and shoot him or something?" Julie quipped.

"Of course not," Marlene said, high pitched, squeaky, "it's just, curiosity gets the best of everyone, and Nick deserved better, don't you think?"

Julie was about to snap back that yes, of course he didn't deserve the awful things that the job had done to him, but she realized that would mean admitted he deserved better than _her._

"You don't want to know what I think," Julie snapped before backing away and meandering back down the dark hallway, fighting the urge to run.

When she burst back into the gym, she searched wildly around for Nick, panicking when she couldn't find him. This entire thing had been a train wreck from start to finish and now she was feeling anxious, on edge, like Marlene would follow her and murder her in the parking lot if she didn't leave right now. What was wrong with these people? Helpless, she continued to search up and down each corridor, the name table out front was empty, the cafeteria, the front of the building where the temperature outside had dropped drastically in the last few hours. She drew her beige cardigan tighter around her for warmth as she marched around the parking lot, feet aching from the ridiculous high heels. It wasn't until she spotted the empty rows of bleachers facing the football field, lit up for the occasion, did she finally see his outline seated on one of the top rows. She wanted to burst out everything Marlene had said to her, to run to him, to tattle, then she realized she didn't want to weigh him down with that, so she stifled it down into her heart, hoping it wouldn't burst with everything else she had stuffed down to protect him and others in her life.

"Hey," she said sinking down beside him on the cold metal bleachers, curling up against him, huddling to warm up.

"Hey," he replied, feeling his stomach flip as she snuggled beside him, the first good feeling he had all night, he raised his hand to rest on her knee affectionately.

"Some night huh?" he asked, "told you we shouldn't have come here."

"It's all right," she shrugged, Marlene's harsh words still echoing in her ears.

"Baby they basically insulted us in there," he said, nodding back towards the school "talking about how different we live our lives."

"Tell me about it," she mumbled, unable to hide it from him anymore.

He stared at her, sensing what she was keeping from him and knowing someone had said something mean to her.

"I'm sorry," he said, wrapping his arm around her "I thought people would grow up and quit the drama, but I guess not."

He sighed and she only wondered what he was thinking. Of how rude his "friends" had been, but they were naïve to the real world, stuck in small town Texas life, surrounded by football, isolated from the real violence they saw every day. She stared down at the football field, picturing Nick playing there, hanging out with his friends when they were all young and unaffected by the traumas of life.

"Did you get everything you wanted?" she asked now, lifting her head to look at him, to study his face for answers.

"What?" he asked, confused for a moment.

"Did you get everything you wanted from life, so far," she asked, bouncing her leg nervously.

He mulled it over in his head. Sure, he could do without the injuries sustained on the job over the years and he missed Warrick terribly, but it was not all bad, he had great friends, and her obviously, after all those years being alone. As he stared down at the football field, he thought of something he always wanted but never got to do.

"Almost," he said taking her hand and starting to lead her down the bleachers.

They came to stop on the grassy field, her heels sinking into it. He took of his jacket and gave it to her which she happily wrapped around her, tucking her arms into the sleeves, cozy, crossing them as she watched him from the sidelines. He mimicked throwing footballs and narrating the game.

"Ten seconds left, Stokes takes control of the ball, will he make it, and it's a touchdown for the Wildcats, the game is theirs, what a historic win for this school."

He did a touchdown victory dance in the end zone in front of her. She smirked, applauding his win, giggling at his goofy dance routine. He walked over to her, loving how she was standing there in that green dress that fell to her knees, wrapped in his coat, her hair bouncing as she moved, that dopey adorable grin on her face. When he reached her, he held her face with both his hands and tilted her chin up to kiss her, soft and slow.

"There," he said when he broke the kiss "_now _I have everything I wanted."

She continued to grin, goofy, adorable, happy for him in this moment and proud of everything they had survived together so far.

"Are you ready to go home?" he asked, and she nodded, pushing her forehead against his chest, feeling tired, the night exhausting her emotionally.

"Good, lets get out of here," he said taking her hand, turning his back on the field and walking off it, hand in hand with her.

He was a damn fool, he could not help but think as he drove them home, his fathers' old truck not nearly as problematic as before. He appreciated it now after what he went through tonight. Thankful to have escaped this small town and made a life for himself, one that included the angel resting beside him. He was distracted by her, curled up in the passenger seat, still wrapped in his suit jacket, eyes closed but not asleep yet.

She truly was all he needed in life now to survive. His job, his past, all of that stuff was just a formality now. Some days, with her, it didn't even seem real the things that had happened to him, what box? What stalker? When she was smiling at him, when they kissed, when she shifted in her sleep to be closer to him, when she put her head on his chest, she made all of that pain disappear.

None of it mattered when she sighed, when she stretched out, reaching for him, not satisfied until he was hugging her tight. She made him forget who he was half the time because he was so focused on her, on the things she loved, ways to make her happy, little joys in the everyday moments. He put his foot on the gas pedal a little harder now to speed up and get home faster so he could hold her properly.

It was no surprise she was so close to falling asleep when they pulled up to his parent's house. She leaned on him as they walked up the driveway and back inside, crickets chirping all around them, the muggy air starting to dissipate as it got closer to midnight. The air conditioning inside was a welcome relief as they shuffled through the front door. His father pierced them both with a confused look.

"Some party," he said, nodding at Julie whose shuffling he mistook for being drunk.

"Yeah," Nick said, if only his father knew the truth about the people he once knew.

But that was all he could bring himself to say as he reached the stairs with Julie, scooping her up and carrying her up to the second floor without a single hesitation. He was careful as he lay her down on the bed in their guest room, taking the suit jacket from around her and replacing it with cool blankets. Her hands came to rest gingerly on the pillow as she snuggled against it, getting comfortable. He was quiet as he got himself ready for bed, climbing in beside her, reaching out to stroke her hair, once, twice, a thousand times over if he could. He got what he wanted when she let out that beautiful, soft sigh he had hoped to hear.

"Thank you," he whispered against her forehead when he leaned in to kiss her, not just for the sigh but for everything she did daily to make his world brighter.

If anyone would have told him back in high school he'd be here, in this moment, he would have rolled his eyes. If anyone would have warned him of what lay ahead, he also would have rolled his eyes. He realized he had to experience dark so her light could find him, before the walls caved in and crushed him under their weight, just in time too because goodness knows he had enough darkness to last him a lifetime.


	19. Shattered

Shattered

He can taste blood. It's not the first time and likely won't be the last based on the way his life had gone thus far. He can feel the split lip, but it doesn't feel as bad as the one he had a few years back. It feels like when it's winter and lips chap and crack from the cold. He can tolerate that. At least he can see; the bruises on his face have not caused his eye to swell, this time. He curses his own stupidity for getting himself in this situation. The nurse and doctor who assist him with cleaning and taking care of his wounds are kind, but he anticipates a lecture about doing dangerous stuff so late at night. If only they knew. Seven stitches on his forehead, hey not his worst record. Scraped elbows and knees, cuts and bruises on his face, no shrapnel pierced his skin luckily. The nurse asked him if he had ever been in an explosion before, he can't help but chuckle at how naïve these people are. When he tells her four, she gapes at him, tells him he's like a cat, must have nine lives or something. Maybe she's right. But by all accounts, he shouldn't be alive after all he's endured. The last forty-eight hours was just another reminder of how close he came to death.

Suddenly, she's there, tears in her eyes, hugging herself as she stares at him, eyes running up and down his face, shocked by his injuries. Luckily, he's still wearing the clothes he left the house in and she can't see the bruised ribs, cuts and other marks. He knows it won't be long before she does though, and it pains him to see her upset for his sake.

"Hey babe," he greets her, trying to be casual while covered in blood, dust and soot. Maybe it's the drugs talking.

"W-what happened?" she whimpered, standing in shock at the foot of the bed he's sitting up in.

"Uh- work," he says plainly, not sure how to tell her the truth now.

"But- it's two in the morning," she points out "what were you doing there?"

"Uh- work," he repeats, and she stomps her foot, frustrated at his answers. She knows that cozy office lab director job does not require late night shifts, nor ones wearing tactical gear, and a gun? That's the life he left behind in Vegas, and judging by his outfit and current physical state, he looks like he went to a war zone.

"You're lying," she howls at him, tears streaming down her face now "what did you do?"

The nurse just happens to finish tending to the wound on his head and she backs away, taking the metal tray and supplies with her. She shoots him a look that clearly says, "you better fess up" before leaving the room and him alone with her. He sighs, leaning back in the bed, head aching, body sore, watching her as she hovers, unsure what to do, wanting to reach out to him but he can see her shaking, she's scared, scared of what she sees, scared of him.

"All right look," he begins "the whole, lab director thing, is uh, well it's only half of what I do here, the other half of the time, I work undercover, doing special ops, infiltrating groups, terrorists, drugs, homegrown bomb type things, all that, tonight went south and that's how I ended up here."

He smiles, for what it's worth, feeling his cuts tug on his face, trying to be optimistic for her sake. She shakes her head now, in disbelief, in confusion, he can't tell.

"You lied to me," she wails now and his heart breaks "you lied, you told me this was safe, you promised we would never keep secrets Nicky, you lied."

She sobs, babbling more about his betrayal of her trust, of her heart. He feels terrible but he can't defend what he's done because it's the reason he chose the job. He wanted more action, more excitement, it killed him to be away from her, but everything about the job thus far had been exactly what he wanted, minus the chronic deception.

"I know," he admits finally "I know I said that and I'm sorry, but baby listen, I love what I do here, I know it seems bad right now but I promise, I love my work."

"Do you love me?" she asks now in a heart wrenching tone.

"Of course, I do," he says immediately, sitting up and reaching out for her but she backs away.

"How do I know you're not lying?" she asks, breaking his heart even further.

She's testing him and he's failing.

"This doesn't change anything about us," he tries to reason with her "I loved you way before I took this job, I love you now and no matter what happens here, you're all I care about."

But she shakes her head, clearly unconvinced, shattered by this news, heartbroken, crushed, not sure if she can ever believe another word he says, ever. She continues to shake her head as she begins to back away from the bed, towards the door, bumping into the door frame clumsily in her disoriented state.

Against the doctor's orders, he stands up, stumbling as he rushes to get to her, sensing she wants to run away. He grabs her shoulders with both hands and turns her, forcing her to look at him even though she's trying to twist herself away.

"Listen to me," he begs "baby please, I wouldn't have lied about this place but I had to in order to keep you safe, the less you knew, the safer you would be, I deal with really bad people, if they know about the ones I love, they can go after you and hurt you, and that would kill me, if anything happened to you, I would go insane, do you get it?"

He continues to hold her shoulders as she keeps her arms crossed, a coping mechanism, a defense when she's unsure. Her eyes still have tears built up in them and she sniffles trying to hold them back. The longer she stares at him, surveying his face, all the cuts, bruises, blood, down to his chest where the shirt he wears is dirty and torn, his jeans and the tactical gear are covered in more dirt and blood. It makes her sick to her stomach to think of him in this bad shape, in danger constantly, the worry she would have if she knew about all this sooner would be unmeasurable. He's been here for two years and she never came close to knowing the truth until tonight. It was thinking he had a cushiony office job that allowed her to sleep at night. Finally, her eyes met his, they were so honest and inviting, it really was him and he really was telling her the truth.

She lets out a gut-wrenching sob, letting her hand cover her mouth trying to keep it in but the sound is too overwhelming, and she has to let it out. She hangs her head, embarrassed, ashamed, too many emotions fighting all at once. At last, she gets it. She feels both foolish and selfish, how could she ruin this for him? He's doing good for the world; she can't deny that. She falls forward, planting her face into a part of his chest where his shirt does not look dirty and bloody and howling again.

"It's all right," he soothes, relieved that she's understanding.

He lets go of her shoulders to embrace her properly, rocking her from side to side, squeezing her side like he always does, hoping to comfort her. He lets her cry out all the frustration and agony she's felt since she got here before sitting her up and getting a better look at her.

"You okay darling?" he asks, as both a way to find out if she's okay in the moment and with him continuing on this dangerous path.

"I think so," she says, the crying making her choke on her words.

"It'll be fine," he assures her softly of the job and the current moment, bringing his hand up to wipe the tears off her face. She's burning hot, red, on fire but the contact soothes her. She really is glad he's okay.

"So, can you still come home and visit like you do?" she asks sadly, terrified of a change in their already limited scheduled time together.

"Of course," he assures her, smoothing some of her tangled hair now.

"And I can still come visit you and have beach days and sleep at the condo?" she asks now.

"Absolutely," he assures her, smitten with how she cares about those small moments of quiet time between them when she's here. It's a trip and comfort she's grown accustomed to and doesn't want to lose.

She nods to show him she understands, staring at his face again and continuing to sob, wishing she could have been here sooner to be with him.

"I know it looks bad," he soothes "I know and I'm sorry I scared you, come here."

He embraces her again, tangling his fingers in her hair, taking in the smell of her tropical shampoo having missed it terribly in the weeks they had been apart. He can still feel her shaking against him and now he wants nothing more than to take her back to his place to prove to her that nothings changed in their routine.

After many scathing looks from the nurses and his boss who insists he stay overnight in the hospital to recover for a bit before going home and after many insistences that he feels fine, they let him leave. He gets her home just like he wants. She's quiet, shell shocked, but robotically helps him change clothes and eat something light before begging that they go to bed and try and rest. She lays far away from him in bed at first, scared to get too close, worried she would hurt him if she snuggled to hard. But he raises his arms, inviting her in and she wiggles her way into his arms, where she belongs.

He sighs, relieved to be home, safe, with her, despite the harsh way she had to find out the truth, at least it was out, and they could slowly resume normal life. She's still sniffling, whimpering occasionally as she struggles to fall asleep, her hand comes to rest on his chest where she can feel his heartbeat and know he's okay. He was going to spend a lifetime making this pain up to her. As she dozes, he can still see tear tracks on her cheeks. He wipes them away with his thumb, gentle and slow, unable to resist pinching her cheek playfully. She scrunches up her face and bats his hand away, presumably to get him to stop, his heart aching when she finds his hand to hold and doesn't let it go the rest of the night.


	20. Tender

Tender

It was _supposed_ to be a good night kiss. They were _supposed _to be going home to separate houses, separate beds. Yet here they stood, on the porch to his house, kissing in the dark, ignoring each other's protests of "It's late, we have to go." Just the thought of separating was torture. He did not want to stop holding her. She was the voice of reason who uttered, breathlessly "We really should stop, we have work tomorrow." He was the voice of spontaneity, breaking the rules, turning the lock on his door clumsily with one hand, holding it open with his foot while scooting her inside. They both loved and hated each other for this. They would regret it, tomorrow when they were tired and trying to work on case files, yawning, complaining, grumbling, but smiling when they realized just how much fun they had together.

Inside, they shuffled through his foyer, shedding layers of their work clothes, letting her purse fall, slipping out of shoes, tossing aside phones and car keys. Somehow, they ended up in the kitchen. He grabbed her waist and lifted her up onto the counter. It brought her to his level, something she appreciated being so short and having to constantly stand on her toes to kiss him or hug him. They had only been together like this, intimately a total of three times. Three times was not enough in both their opinions, but the job got in the way. The job that brought them together was ironically keeping them from being who they really wanted to be around each other. Sure they had cute date nights, dinner, dancing, movies, make out sessions on the couch, but as eager as she was to be together, he was patient, he didn't push her right away, there was something about that style of romance that did something funny to her heart. She was so used to just jumping in bed with someone after only a few dates that this slower pace with Nick was much better, hotter, allowing her to savor it which she rarely did, or maybe just didn't know how until he showed her. His hands found their way under her shirt, reaching for her sides to squeeze, a gesture that made her giggle in anticipation of what was going to happen next. It took all of his willpower to lift her off the counter and take her upstairs, laying her down gently on the bed so they could really be together, forgetting all about the rules they put in place regarding work and what to do and not to do before or after shifts. Screw the rules, they wanted each other, why should they have to reschedule their passion around what society dictated? They were complete utter fools for each other.

In the moments afterwards, they lay together, the air conditioning kicking on, chilling the air, making her draw the blankets around them both. The sheets were cool, like silk against their skin. She sighed contently, on the verge of falling asleep when she felt his hand slip under the covers, lifting the hem of her shirt, his fingers finding her side, dragging them up then down slowly, delicately, tracing a random pattern, sliding down to her hip, circling the same spot lazily. The contact made her squirm and bite her lip, still sensitive to his touch, still getting used to his unique affections, loving how it tickled, she was at his mercy. She _adored _this. Explaining it was difficult because she had never experienced such a soft love from anyone before. Her times with her ex were mostly heated and full of passion. But with Nick, he was tender. He made sure she felt every emotion with him. He didn't spoil her with the same old recycled affections and declarations of love. He made her feel things, things in her heart and her soul that she had not even known existed. Just the simplicity of his touch, fingers caressing her side or her arm or whichever tender spot he discovered next, was enough to fill her stomach with butterflies and her heart with adoration for him. No one knew her like this. No one knew this quiet side of her, of her soft moments with him. All they knew was her tough exterior, her rigid habit of breaking rules, her anger fueled crime solving methods. But this, this was their little secret, their own world where no one would bother them. She felt at ease here, melting in his arms, disintegrating at his touch, wanting to disappear with him and never come back.

He could not stop smiling. His time with her was incredible, powerful, yet soothing. There was something about her, something that no one else had managed to discover, yet he had found, buried in her soul, her true personality, her zest for life, her thrill over the everyday, her penchant for tender care. He lay on his side, watching her, how she grinned as his fingers danced on her side, then her hip, that tender, ticklish spot seemed like a good place to linger, and based on her continuous giggles, he might as well keep going. He thought back to when he first found that spot, on a night like this one, they were laying there, breathless, exhilarated, and his hands wandered there. He remembered how she curled up, defensive, protective, ticklish, then slowly let herself relax, uncurling, letting him roam, taping each soft spot with one finger, circling her hip, counting as he completed three delicate circles, then trailing his finger across her skin to her other side, taping then circling again, nuzzling into her neck. Her giggles intoxicating. She expected this tender routine often and he loved that secret side of her, how she went from tough and anger fueled to a mess of giggles and content sighs at the lightest touch. She gave him life in these moments, a life he never thought possible with a person softer and sweeter than anyone he had ever known. The afterglow more intoxicating than making love.

Now she had no further plans for the night except to lay here with him. She had raised her hand to caress his cheek, an affection he adored. This was what he wanted, someone to be soothed by and to soothe. She captured parts of his heart he didn't know needed taking. Despite the rough way the world had treated him and her, she remained soft, showing that side to him and no one else. She wanted so much love but did not know how to obtain it or ask until she fell for him. Now he was giving her the world, his world, and the love she deserved.

The longer he kept stroking her side, the more soothing it became. She shivered each time he started, dragging his fingers down her side, stopping to circle her hip, the slowest motions bringing out the best reaction from her. She closed her eyes to take it all in, a single, delicate graze felt like a thousand, the chilly air on her exposed skin made each touch feel like icicles dancing there, finding every ticklish spot with ease, she scrunched up her face and bit her lip again, giggling, his favorite sound in the world, neither of them wanting the other to stop. She wanted to be trapped here in his arms forever, shivering each time he touched her. There was nowhere in the world she would rather be than here, soothed, cared for, spoiled, loved in the best way.


	21. Undertow

Undertow

The distinctive boat horn, echoing low and dull over the water was the sound he heard the most since stepping outside the hotel with her this morning. They had taken their time getting ready, savoring the chill of the morning by staying huddled up under the covers of the cushiony bed. When they finally roused themselves, it was her excitement at showing him around the city that motivated her to squirm her way out of his arms and out of bed to get dressed. She took her time, picking out something comfortable; jeans, a warm sweater, something she could tuck her hands into when they got cold, fuzzy socks made of the same wool like material as the sweater, boots that tied with laces she looped together delicately, a leather jacket with faux fur lining the inside, a knit hat she jammed on her head, letting it mess her curls further, finally, a red and black checkered pattern scarf she looped around her neck carefully, tucking it in securely. She carried gloves in her hands, sticking them in her purse, not quite ready to put them on yet.

He mimicked her with the layers he chose to bring on this trip. He was not as used to the cold as she was, so clambering around town with boots and a thick heavy jacket made him feel slightly awkward, but she looked so natural in her surroundings, he felt a little less awkward as they started walking down the street together. Naturally, she refrained from putting the gloves on because she slipped her hand in his, swinging her arm back and forth playfully for a few minutes as they walked. As private as they were with their affections back home, here she wanted everyone to see and know how much she loved him. The hotel was within walking distance to the waterfront and various other places, little shops, a bakery, the police station where she used to work was visible from their hotel room window. A part of him figured she was still attached to her old stomping ground, so he didn't question her choice when she booked this trip for them. Part of him wanted her to take him to see the place that meant so much to her for so long, even if it meant a chance at running into her ex.

They continued to walk down the cute little street lined with unique shops and people going in all directions. The smell of cinnamon hit him as they approached one of the bakery's and she tugged on his hand, leading him inside the warm building. She stood on tiptoes to see the selection of baked goods behind the glass counter, taping her finger excitedly on the glass as she picked out the biggest cinnamon roll she could find. He was no stranger to her eating habits and knew the entire thing was for her, so he picked one out for himself. They ordered lattes to go with the cinnamon buns and proceeded to sit down with them at one of the little wrought iron tables outside of the bakery. She popped the lid off her coffee cup, revealing a foamy whipped cream topping. She sipped it happily, leaving behind a smudge of the sweet confection on her lips which she licked off, never missing a single piece of the sweet topping. She lived for sugar, he noticed early on when they first started dating, she thrived on it, buzzing from flower to flower like a bee, collecting the sweet nectar needed to make honey and fuel her. She was just as sweet in her personality as she was in her energy level. He wouldn't be surprised if she carried a jar of sprinkles in her purse to add to that latte or any sweet treat she happened upon.

After their sweet treat, she continued to hold his hand and pull him down the street to the sanctioned off area dedicated to something called a harvest festival. Here there were tents sprung up with vendors showcasing their crafts, art, painting, sculpture, knitting, homemade goods like chocolates, cookies, jams and jellies, even things for pets, fancy treats, handmade collars and toys. They wandered each vendor, admiring the craftsmanship and details each person put into their work. He got distracted, admiring the way she lit up when she saw something that intrigued her, how her curls managed to bounce when she walked, even while nestled under her hat, how she lay her head on his shoulder as they walked between vendor tents, wrapping her arms around his, shivering in the cold despite her layers, how she smelled like her usual tropical shampoo but had switched her perfume or spray to something vanilla scented to match the season, or maybe it was the smell from the bakery lingering on their clothes, whatever the case, it was intoxicating and he hoped it never went away.

As they continued to walk down the street, peering at each vendor, buying a few items to try, mostly food again, homemade chocolates wrapped in tiny bags and tied delicately with little ribbons, the sound of the boat horns was getting louder. She was leading him to the waterfront where they could sit and watch them move across the bluish colored water. Sure enough, at the end of the street, past all the vendor tents, there was a drop off in the street and it changed from stone to concrete. She could not resist jumping on leaves as they approached the waters edge, crunching them beneath her feet, radiating joy in this moment. There was a heavy-duty steel wall and railing system preventing people from falling over the edge but allowed them to view the choppy water and boats. She leaned over that wall as far as she could to see as far ahead as possible. The wind was stronger here, whipping at their faces and making their cheeks burn and turn red with the sting of the cold air. She seemed unbothered by it as she pointed to various water vessels moving across the harbor, trying to spot the biggest one. He kept his hand resting on her back as she watched, staring out into the distance. He wondered what she was thinking of. Was she creating some fantasy world full of dragons and monsters? Was she thinking about her life here, of how she missed the familiar comforts it brought her? Whatever the case, she looked pure, staring ahead, lost in her own world yet still managing to make room for him in it. Just like this harbor, she was a wave, moving across it, sometimes slow, sometimes rapid, pulling him with and against the current, depending on the day and her mood. She swept him up in her love, taking him higher and higher until she had him completely at her mercy. But unlike the undertow of the current, she could not drown him, she lifted him, cascading him through the heavy foam, fog and other barriers that tried to block them, propelling him to a new height, safe from heartache at last.


	22. Vulnerable

Vulnerable

"Come here baby," was all he had to utter to her as she stood in the doorway of their bedroom, tears already streaming down her face.

She careened onto the bed, diving right into his awaiting arms, her first cry muffled as she squirmed trying to get comfortable. She was spent, using all the strength she had to hold in these tears all day, all night, all shift, waiting for a moment within the privacy of their space to unleash her fury and pain. It didn't matter what was hurting her, it was the simple fact that she was hurting, enough to hide, enough to seek shelter with him, enough to break her spirit, crush her soul, wound her delicate heart.

He was strong, catching her, enveloping her in a tight embrace, hands securing themselves around her, one resting on her head, keeping her in place where she had burrowed into his chest. The other hand secure on her side, squeezing slowly, wanting to ease her, distract her. She howled, the worse of the storm descending upon him in this moment, her body wracked with sobs. He could see her body tremble with each sob, felt her stomach twitch with each breath she tried to catch.

"Easy," he soothed, resting his hand on her stomach, feeling it rise and fall with each shallow breath she struggled to take.

She responded to his soft voice with a whimper of anguish, letting him know she was trying to, but struggling to calm down. She was in agony, devastated for the loss of the innocent victim in their case, a sixteen-year-old girl murdered at a brothel where her older sister resided. The mother was at fault, which only further complicated the emotional trauma she was feeling for this girl. He had been stuck working the scene of the brothel back and forth with Greg, so he had not gotten the chance to check on her, but he had heard from Russell of her misery. She had spent hours combing through the young girl's social media and personal effects, learning about her, wondering how she ended up in that situation. The truth broke her spirit even more and justice did not comfort her in this moment.

"It's not fair," she howled to him when she finally found her voice, curling her hand into a fist and pounding it weakly on his shoulder, frustrated, beginning to move restlessly on the bed.

"I know it sweetness," he soothed but what else could they do? This was the job; this was the horrors they faced on the daily. Sometimes it was not always violence but rather malice behind the attack that got to them.

As much as it pained him to see her suffering this way, her emotions right now made her human and made him love her a thousand times more. He had watched his co-workers all go through their emotional ups and downs in this line of work but being able to comfort her made his heart feel alive. She cared so deeply about people and became distraught when she could not help them. She strove to be better, to do better, to create better in this dark world.

With her continuing to cry, his heart broke for her with each sob. Healing would take all night and likely into tomorrow, but he was not going to leave her side until she felt relatively at peace again.

"You did everything you could," he reminded her, letting his hand sweep her hair back, grazing her burning hot forehead, her emotions heating her up body and her soul at the same time. She shook her head, denying her efforts, they were all in vain.

"Don't," he warned her gently, rocking her when she got restless again, "don't do that to yourself, we've all been there, we all want to shut down, but you're better than that sweetness, you're stronger."

As much as she knew he was right in this moment, that they had done everything possible to bring justice to the innocent, she was still high on emotions, running on fumes from not taking a break during this investigation. She wanted so badly to sleep but it seemed unlikely in her heightened emotional state. Searching in her heart, all she wanted was to hide, she _needed_ to hide and never face the world again. And he was letting her. She wiped her eyes clumsily with her arm, the sleeve of her shirt becoming twisted around her arm in haste. When she looked at him, there were still too many tears present, clouding her vision. He tried to help by gently wiping them with his thumb, but she reached for his hand and pulled it away from her face, telling him there was no way to catch them all but she appreciated his efforts. She would rather be with him, close to him, right where she was.

So, she let herself catch her breath, taking in air she had been choking on for so long with all her sobbing. The quiet and stillness of the house was soothing after all the noise that had been exploding around her for hours. Her head was still buzzing but it was going numb at last. He stayed with her as she began to settle at last. Her sobs quieted and her breathing became normal again. He watched her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, relieved that she was calming. He kept his hand resting on her cheek, caressing it as a way to dry her tears but also comfort her at the same time.

These cases, these moments, defined them, shook them to the core but gave them chances to help each other overcome what hurt them. With her, there was a wide variety of emotions on the daily, but she was only adding to his life, giving him a reason to live. Her tears and sadness always crushed him the way it crushed her, but she let him in, she let him be her salvation despite her independent nature, and there was no place he would rather be than next to her, on good days and bad.


	23. Wonder

Wonder 

He felt his breath catch in his chest when he unfolded the little strip of paper and read her name in his head, seeing it there in her beautiful loopy scrawl. His heart beat faster as everyone else read their names, tucking their slips of paper away, ideas pooling in their heads at what to buy for them. He tucked the slip of paper inside the tiny pocket on his leather jacket, keeping it close to his heart where it belonged, where _she_ belonged.

As the days progressed, he made lists, smiling when he thought he found the perfect gift, then crossing lines through his pitiful ideas when he felt they were not good enough. It took a stroll through the mall and the shiny shimmering jewel to catch his eye before he finally realized what he could buy for her, how he could spoil her without her knowing, the way she deserved. It came wrapped in a velvet box with a red bow. He kept it hidden in his pocket, as he marched confidently through the lab, sneaking into the locker room and placing the box delicately on the top shelf inside her locker. The saleslady had written the note "To Jules" throwing off suspicion on him and leaning more towards Russell. She would never see it coming. He tried to hide his smug grin as he watched from across the hall her absolute genuine adorable reaction when she discovered it. Her eyes lit up, her jaw dropped, then her mouth curled into a delighted smile, she _loved _surprises, that much he knew. She slipped the shimmering bracelet on her wrist, clasping it together in one snap, twisting her wrist around to admire it, gleaming with joy, bless her soul.

He disappeared from the room across the hall before she could glance around in search of the gift giver. Whomever it was had made her day so much better. With the use of Jules on the card, she figured it was Russell being smug about it. Nevertheless, she appreciated the gesture. When she bumped into him processing video footage from the crime scene, it crushed her when he declared he was not her secret Santa. If not him, then who? She tried to play it coy, acting like she knew all along as she backed out of the room but in reality, her stomach was flipping with anxiety and her head racing with curious thoughts as to who would give her such an extravagant gift. The rest of her shift left her in a haze, a fog of joy, confusion, smitten for her unknown gift giver.

At the party, she donned the elf hat given to her by Hodges, jamming it on her head gleefully, letting random pieces of tinsel don her curls making her light up more if that were even possible. She settled in a chair, nursing a drink when Nick sat down in front of her. He carried a drink as well and wore a smug grin.

"Where have you been?" she asked, feeling a slight buzz already from the alcohol.

"Working," he said, "how about you?"

"Same," she replied, twisting her wrist to show off the gem,

"That's pretty," he complimented her "where did you get it?"

"My secret Santa," she said, "Russell says it's not him, but I think it is."

"What if I told you I saw someone deliver it a few hours ago?" he challenged her.

"I'd say that's valuable information you're withholding Stokes," she bit back, calling him by his last name to annoy him.

He leaned forward as if he were about to divulge a secret, getting closer, leaning in, admiring the tinsel in her hair as he tucked a loose strand of her hair aside to whisper in her ear "Merry Christmas baby."

He felt her hand go up and clamp over her mouth in true genuine shock. They had agreed on no crazy gifts for each other, just a quite holiday with their friends. But he had broke the rules in the name of festive joy. Little did he knew she also had a gift for him stashed away in her condo but that could wait. When he leaned back in his chair, he raised his glass to toast with her as if nothing had happened. She felt a hot wave of embarrassment flush her cheeks, her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, but she smiled, he had gotten the best of her, tricking her, yet making her feel like she was flying. She raised her glass to clink with his, sipping the drink together, grinning as the fruity bubbly drink warmed her. He winked at her, hoping no one else noticed their sweet moment.

As the party ended and everyone shuffled to their cars, she stood with him, waiting for the others to leave so they could go home together. Outside the lab, she took a piece of tinsel from her hair and placed it on top of his head, giggling in pure delight at how silly they were. She had not felt this happy during the holidays as she did right now with him. Joy to the world indeed.


	24. X

"One more," she says when she wants more of _everything_ he offers her.

"One more," she says, tapping her cheek where he just kissed her, pouting as she waits, catching him off guard but making him smile then double back to place another kiss on her cheek. She savors every second as he lingers on her soft, warm skin.

"One more chapter, please?" she asks after he has read to her from one of her favorite books to help her relax. She lifts her head from his shoulder as she asks, piercing him with a pleading look. She keeps staring at him until he turns the page to continue reading and she burrows back into him, delighted, listening to the soft pitch of his voice read each line slow and careful, taking his time on purpose.

"One more minute?" she begs, tired, from where she's buried her face in her pillow, yanking the covers over her head. He teases her, pulling the covers off her slowly to annoy her. She whines, grabbing the hem of the blanket and pulling it up over her head again while he laughs at her moody moments.

"One more game," she screeches as she tackles him in the backyard after they have just played football with the gang. She's wound up, hyper, wanting more fun, another round, another chance to run and play and be loud, laughing harder when he reels her in and tickles her.

"More," is all she can giggle out when he's kissing her neck, her stomach tingling, his beard tickling her skin, he playfully bites her neck just once and she shrieks, delighted, asking, always, for more.

"One more," she giggles as they share ice cream and makes him keep adding scoops to the bowl, her love for sugar never ceases to amaze him.

"One more time," she begs, breathless as they scramble out of the swimming pool at the Russell's summer party, she takes his hand and makes him jump in with her again.

"One more," she asks after he has spun her around the dance floor numerous times. She pouts, her eyes bright and alluring, he cannot resist her charm as he slides his arm around her waist to give her exactly what she wants.

"One more," she says, her voice cracking with emotions as she clings to him after sharing what was supposed to be a goodbye hug, but has turned into her not wanting to let him go as she sees him off at the airport where he must return to San Diego.

"One more," he agrees, every time, every hour of every day. That's when she shines, beams with delight, squeals with joy, claps her hands together, jumps up and down, snuggles up to him, pure, a rare look at a heaven meant just for him.

And when she's wired, too overworked to fall asleep, he counts down with her, telling her she will be asleep in no time. She denies that it will work, her mumbling growing quieter as they continue to count down, asleep by the time he mutters the last numbers "three, two, one"


	25. Yuletide

Yuletide

Christmas 2015

Christmas morning dawned cool and cloudy. She woke him up early, untangling herself from the warm blankets they spent all night wrapped in, to stand on the bed and jump up and down on it to get his attention. He feigned sleep for a few more minutes, mock protesting her early wake up call the way she protested his.

"Come on Nicky, it's Christmas!" she whined for him, landing on her knees making the mattress sink in.

"Five more minutes?" he challenged her, peeking out from the blankets he had drawn up, showing only his eyes.

"But presents!" she pouted falling forward on top of him, nearly elbowing him in the side.

That pout, her hair all tangled up around her, the way she looked at him through his secure spot under the covers was all too much. She was too adorable. Feeling playful, matching her mood on this holiday morning, he sat forward, abandoning the covers and reaching for her instead, pulling her tight into his embrace, tickling, surprising her, making her shriek in delight. Her soul and presence in his life was the best gift, especially considering what she had endured almost one year ago, that terrible attack and coma that rocked her world and challenged everything she thought she knew about her life and her own stamina. Real presents could wait. This moment with her was all that mattered.

Her laughter and subsequent attempts to escape his hold only made him smile at how playful they were. He drew her closer, tighter into his embrace so he could tickle her more and just be physically closer to her, to feel the rush of energy they had while being silly this way, to savor the affections they shared. He loved her spirit, how the coma had not robbed her of her innocence and ability to have fun. She threw her head back, laughing hysterically when his fingers dug into her sides, pinching his way up her ribs. When he buried his face in her neck, peppering tickly kisses there, she shrieked the loudest and almost fell out of his arms.

Satisfied with making her laugh, he stopped tickling and let her catch her breath. Her giggles continued as she squirmed to get comfortable still resting in his arms.

"Gotcha," he teased, smoothing her hair back.

"That's mean," she pouted but only for a second before giggles got a hold of her again. She loved their time like this and after being trapped in that hospital for months, this playful moment was exactly what she wanted and needed.

"You started it," he reminded her, tapping her nose playfully.

"It's Christmas," she reminded him "don't you want presents?"

"Oh, is that today?" he feigned not knowing.

"Yes!" she declared, squirming to get out of his embrace "please can we go get presents now?" 

"I suppose," he said not really wanting to leave the bed and the warmth that encapsulated him with her in his arms.

"Finally!" she announced, relieved as she scrambled to sit up and abandon the bed. She waited for him to grumble and get out of bed before she took his hand and led him downstairs to the living room where more fun awaited.

That fun included tearing into all their presents they had purchased and made for each other with excitement and vigor. Hence how the floor became scattered with papers and wrappings of the carnage of their destructive rampage. He had taken his time opening he gifts from her because watching her react to her gifts from him was much more entertaining. She lit up as bright as the decorated tree in front of them. He managed to surprise her with every gift and each reveal led to her leaning over the couch to kiss him. The last wrapped item she tore in to was squishy and made her make a face of confusion. Beneath the silver paper was a fuzzy blanket throw for the bed or the couch or whichever place she decided to call it home.

"I love it!" she exclaimed lifting it and unfolding it to see how big it was. She wrapped it around her like a cape, snuggling into its warmth.

"It's so soft," she declared, running her hand over the material as it enveloped her tiny frame "feel it."

She lifted the fabric up to his cheek and grazed it delicately. It was soft and warm just like her.

"I know how much you love blankets and after that crappy one in the hospital, I figured you could use a new one," he explained his reasoning for buying it.

"It's wonderful, thank you," she sighed as she leaned back against the couch with it draped around her. She only stayed there for a minute before maneuvering her way into his lap and snuggling him with the blanket, warming them both up.

"I love Christmas," she declared as if it was not already obvious.

"Me too," he agreed thinking only of his holidays with her over the last few years as being the best he could remember since he was a kid. He didn't have the heart to tell her how, for just a fraction of a second, he thought he would never have another holiday with her after the attack first happened. The less she knew of his fears that night, the better. Unfortunately, she had a way of reading his emotions, or was already thinking about her coma because she said, "I love Christmas more this time, I know how fast things can change and I never want to take that time for granted again."

"I know sweetness," he soothed with a kiss to her forehead "I know it's bugging you, thinking about all the what ifs, but you're here, we're here, try not to let it get you down today okay?" If you're hurting, we don't have to go to the Russell's party."

"We have to go," she insisted now, lifting her head from his chest "it's tradition and it's so much fun!"

Her mood switching from fun to reflective and melancholy back to fun was likely going to be a frequent occurrence today and going forward in the future. Nevertheless, he would savor the fun and soothe her sadness as best he could.

They wasted the morning and half of the afternoon away by cleaning up the boxes and paper, sorting their gifts, having breakfast, watching holiday movies, and playing with Sam and the toys they bought for him for Christmas. She disappeared upstairs to get ready for the party set for this evening. When she came back down, she was dressed and had done her hair, making it wavy but not completely curly like she had a few years ago. Since the coma, she struggled to maintain that infamous hairstyle, opting for a few waves but keeping it primarily straight with the flat iron. She picked out a pleated black skirt, black tights, heels that were taller than her usual pair, a warm fuzzy grey sweater and earrings and other jewelry to match. She had done her makeup extra too; there was more sparkle to her cheeks and a glimmering colorful tint to her eyes. They packed up their dishes they had made for the potluck style dinner, secured Sam in the kitchen and made the trip to the Russell's lavish home.

The exterior of the Russell's home was lit with white lights and fake evergreen and pine trees on the porch. The windows had multicolored lights as did the trim of the porch. They could see a tree from the window and it too was adorned with lights and ornaments. Thought it was a mild fifty degrees, she still shivered as they stood on the porch after ringing the doorbell. When Russell opened the door, he greeted them with a cheerful "Hey guys, Merry Christmas" and ushered them inside. Half their co-workers were already there, getting drinks, chatting, sharing snacks, gathering around the fireplace and the tree in the cozy living room. Julie adored this tradition, grateful for Russell carrying on this party as he had done in Seattle. It made her feel like she had a home for years when she didn't. Sharing it now with Nick and the rest of their friends made it much more magical and special.

She fit right in, hugging Sara and Morgan, laughing at the reindeer antlers Hodges donned for the occasion. Katie, Russell's granddaughter ran right for Julie, calling for her, jumping into her awaiting arms with joy and hugging her.

"Aunt Julie guess what I got for Christmas?" the little girl gushed happily.

"A hippopotamus?" Julie guessed.

"No," Katie giggled "guess again!"

"A dinosaur?" Julie tried again making a funny face of concentration.

"No," Katie said shaking her head, delighted at their game.

"A shark?" Julie tried again, playfully pinching the little girls side making her squeal delighted.

"No," she giggled squirming in Julie's arms.

"I give up," Julie said in mock defeat "what did you get sweetheart?"

"A bunch of new dolls, and Legos, and a new dress and some beads to make bracelets and a new game for the Wii and slippers with doggies on them and a horse pillow that's this big!"

Katie stretched her arms out as far as they could to describe her toys while Julie gushed in surprise over every neat thing the child had.

"Well you know what, I think I saw some presents under the tree with your name on it from me and Uncle Nicky." Julie told Katie who beamed and squirmed excitedly until Julie lowered her to the ground. Katie took Julie's hand and dragged her over to the tree, flinging herself onto the floor and picking through the wrapped boxes for ones addressed to her. Julie helped her sort her pile and watched her open each one.

"What do you say to Aunt Julie and Uncle Nicky?" Maya asked her daughter when she finished tearing into her gifts.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Katie gushed, hugging Julie then Nick, gushing to everyone about the extra presents she had.

"You guys are too sweet," Maya said privately to Nick as they watched Katie and Julie play.

"We love you guys," Nick said, "and she was so excited to shop for Katie, we went out after one of her check ups back in November when she was feeling kind of down and it completely cheered her up."

"How has she been?" Maya asked, "dad says she's pretty much back to normal, but sometimes I don't always think he's telling the whole truth."

"She really has been doing great," Nick explained "her memory is as sharp as ever, she's got all her energy, as you can see."

They watched Julie scoop Katie up and settle her in her lap to play with her toys by the tree, the pair snuggling close, whispering whatever silly secrets they shared, giggling, it melted his heart.

"Aunt Julie, will you come with us to Seattle again?" Katie asked.

"Soon honey," Julie assured her "Nicky and I will both get pretty busy at work but as soon as we get a vacation, we will come and see you."

Katie seemed satisfied with that answer as she snuggled up to Julie, laying her head on her shoulder, tired from all the days excitement even though it was only four in the afternoon. Dinner would be served soon and then they could tear into the amazing desserts that awaited them on the fold out table in the kitchen. Julie was distracted, watching the TV where a holiday movie was playing, and she felt Katie reach up and touch a spot on her neck.

"Aunt Julie what happened?" the child inquired, taping on her neck again.

Julie realized Katie was referring to a scar from her attack months ago. She didn't know how to respond at first, hoping to brush it off but the child was just as curious as her grandpa and would know if she was lying.

"Well honey, that happened a few months ago," she began to explain "I got hurt at work doing something and it's just taking longer to go away, that's all."

"Was it the bad man from Seattle?" Katie asked in a hushed tone, to Julie's horror.

"How do you know about that? Did your mommy tell you?" Julie asked.

"I heard her talking to grandpa about it," Katie confessed "they said you were stuck and couldn't wake up, but then you did, are you okay now?"

"Yes," Julie admitted "I am okay now, I promise."

She covered her hand over her heart as a show of promise to the sensitive child.

"Good," Katie said happily, snuggling closer to Julie.

Julie was spared any more awkward conversation by Barbara announcing dinner was ready. Maya took Katie to get her a plate of food, leaving Julie to reconnect with Nick. She was still shaken by Katie's questions but brushed it off as she followed the line that wrapped around the kitchen, island counters and folding table which were all loaded with dishes of food; ham and turkey, vegetarian lasagna, green bean casserole, the cheesy potatoes she and Nick made, bread rolls, a veggie tray, and fruit salad. After everyone sat down to eat, Russell stood up from his seat at the head of the table and raised his glass.

"Barbara and I would like to thank you all for coming and spending this wonderful day with us," he began " and for helping us prepare this amazing dinner, for all your hard work at the lab this past year and all the years we've been together, when I look back at how the year started, I had no idea how much we would all go through together as a team and a family."

He focused on Julie now who felt her face flush with all the attention on her, something she did not always enjoy, especially on a day that was supposed to be about family.

"Almost losing Jules was too much to bear," Russell continued "but her strength and resilience since waking up in May has been astounding, her recovery is a miracle, it's the miracle that makes me believe that we can endure anything life throws at us, and I want to dedicate this toast to her and to our family, how much stronger we have all become since her recovery."

He raised his glass as did everyone else at the table. She felt tears burn in her eyes, this unexpected attention making her feel unworthy of it. She looked at Nick, her source of comfort in situations like this and reached for his hand. He sensed her distress at all the attention and let her lean on him as she accepted the toast.

"Sorry to put you on the spot kiddo," Russell apologized as he sat back down.

"It's okay," Julie said wiping her eyes carefully so as not to mess up the sparkly eye shadow she opted for this afternoon "I really appreciate it, and I love you all, thank you for believing in me even when it seemed like, like"

But she couldn't bring herself to say the words, especially with little Katie watching her closely.

"We know," Barbara soothed, reaching across her chair to pat Julie's hand.

With the toast over, they could all focus on their meal. Julie's appetite was lacking now after getting emotional. Nevertheless, she picked carefully at the food on her plate, savoring the heartiness of the meal and how lucky she was to be here right now to enjoy it. The real treat she was anxious to get was dessert. When the meal was finished and the dessert table opened up at last, she took a plate and gathered as many sweet treats as she could, returning to Nick at the table. She brought back chocolate chip cookies, sugar cookies with frosting and sprinkles, brownies, mini cheesecake pieces with a cherry and drizzled with cherry sauce on top. It was all the things she loved, sugar, sweetness, junk food. She sat with him, taking her usual perch in his lap, breaking off pieces of the cookies and sharing them with him, one bite at a time, giggling quietly together over their closeness and playful little picnic.

Full of their meal, she leaned against him, tired but happy. He rested his hand on her knee, squeezing it gently, the thin material of her black tights the only thing separating his hand from her bare skin. The continued pressure of his hand there made her snuggle against him more, as close as she could physically get to him. They watched their friends meander at the party, some dancing, some watching the holiday movies playing on a loop on the TV. This was her favorite part of the holiday, the quiet time after when everyone was full and sleepy. Of course, Katie was the most energetic one now, bouncing over to Nick and Julie asking her to play again which she obliged, sliding out of Nick's lap to join Katie back in the living room with her toys.

When the sun finally set and the rooms became dark, lit only by the lights strung around the walls and the biggest light source coming from the tree, did the party start to wind down. People saying heartfelt goodbyes, making plans to hang out in the next week or so and be back at the Russell's house for a big New Years Eve party. Nick searched for Julie, figuring she must be tired by now, finding her asleep on the couch, curled up with Katie at her side, arms wrapped around the little girl, cradling her in a gently embrace, their tiny frames illuminated by the glow of the lights, surrounded by soft pillows and a single blanket draped loosely over them. It was too precious, he felt his heart ache, thinking for a moment that this could be her with their own child had they decided to start a family.

"They are too cute," Maya said, having gone searching for Katie and finding her this way.

"Don't I know it," Nick praised of how close the pair were and how sweet they both looked right now "she gets tired pretty quick now since the coma, but it doesn't really hurt her to get some extra sleep."

"I hate to separate them," Maya said sadly "but we really should get Katie to bed proper upstairs."

"No worries," Nick said, "I'll get mine; you get yours."

They maneuvered strategically together to separate the girls. Katie being so young did not even wake when her mother scooped her up. Julie, however, sensed the separation of warmth from her leaving her side and protested, reaching out for her.

"Easy sugar plum," Nick teased Julie, kissing her temple gently "Katie needs to get to bed now, and so do you."

"Not tired," she protested "it's still Christmas."

"I know," Nick soothed her "but the party's over."

She ignored him, continuing to doze, curling up, clinging to one of the pillows now, her high heels left abandoned in a pile at the side of the couch. The lights only enhanced the sparkles on her cheeks, making it appear as if she was glowing, just like one of the delicate ornaments that adorned the tree. Russell was right, she was a miracle, for all of them, but extra special for Nick because she chose him, she fell in love with him. She was the one making his chest ache with adoration right now. Having spent so many holidays alone or just with the company of the team, which was still nice, he always felt like he was missing out on something, not having someone to share the holiday with, someone like her. But here she was, illuminating his world. Better still, they re-learned how to connect after her coma, it was like starting over in a relationship that felt new but was actually already established. Now he understood what a miracle truly was. They saw so few positive outcomes in their jobs, that recognizing true joy sort of faded from his mind, until her life force reawakened that joy. And here they were, soft, sweet, tender, warm, together, lucky, oh so very lucky to be here.


	26. Zen

Zen

He was no fool, he could tell when someone was connected to someone else pretty easily. With her and their unconventional boss, he knew the history. The camaraderie in Seattle, the cases that brought them to Vegas, how she was practically family to Barbara and Russell's kids Charlie and Maya. Nick had been in the middle of many of their fights. He had watched Finn make herself taller as she tried to match Russell's height in her fury and rage towards him when he told her no or did not allow her to run a case the way she wanted. He had observed her perched cross legged on his desk reviewing a case, pouring over files, bouncing ideas back and forth off each other's likeminded brains. She ranted and raved about him, both the good and the bad, the Zen master, the mushroom collector, the protector of her heart and soul when things did not go her way. Nick was grateful for Russell bringing her into his life and also for how much he cared about her the same way he did. So naturally, he felt confident as he approached Russell's office one day after shift.

"Hey boss," Nick said knocking on the door as he entered "got a sec?"

"Sure," Russell said ushering him inside and motioning for him to close the door.

"What can I do for you?" Russell asked.

Nick was silent as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny velvet box, popping it open and holding it out towards Russell, the contents; a red diamond ring.

"I appreciate the gesture Nick, but I don't think my wife would approve" Russell said jokingly of the ring Nick presented him.

"Funny," Nick said, "it's for Finn."

Russell stared at him, not surprised but still somewhat taken aback.

"Yeah?" he said sitting up forward on his chair with a flash of excitement in his eyes.

"Yep," Nick confirmed "I think it's about time, she means the world to me, I can't imagine not being with her so I'm going to ask her, but uh, I wanted to ask you first, she doesn't really like all that old fashioned traditional stuff and her parents are not around anymore but she values your opinion so, what do you think?"

"It's great Nick," Russell said truthfully "she's gonna love it, and she cares about you, you've really made her happy, much happier than I've seen her in years."

He eyed the ring with a smirk, picturing Finn's reaction upon seeing it and hearing what Nick was going to say to her, and as a final declaration of support, said "Go for it."

**~One Week Later~ **

"Ugh, you would not believe the mess day shift left for me," she ranted as she entered the house after her shift "there was notes out of order, photos with no time stamps, and I swear, if I find one more unsigned piece of evidence in that box I'm going to hunt them all down and strangle them."

"I believe it babe," he sympathized with her as she marched furiously into the kitchen where he was waiting at the counter having just fed Sam, allowing her to rant and agreeing that she would indeed strangle anyone from day shift in a heartbeat.

"It's not that they are bad people," she continued, dumping her purse on the stool and collapsing into the second one, running her hands through her hair, "they just get lazy and think all the work goes to us, and we are the ones who work well past what we should be."

"Trust me, I know, I hated when Ecklie split us up all those years ago," Nick explained, wiping the counter down of any leftover crumbs from Sam's food "day shift was a killer, I mean it was great for Cath and Lindsay but such a pain for me and Warrick and we never got to see Sara, Greg or Grissom, nothing about that year went right."

"I'm sorry Nicky," she sympathized, realizing he was sinking back into memories of being kidnapped.

She reached across the counter to grab his hand, lifting it into hers, tracing the lines on his palm, a familiar comfort she did often in times like this. He watched her fingers move gently across his hand and instantly felt better, his journey down the rabbit hole of his antagonized memories halted by her sensitivity and caressing of her hand on top of his. He could not hide his smirk as he realized what he wanted to do right now more than anything.

"At least we're off work tomorrow," she reminded him, bumping him back to reality.

"Yeah," he said, relieved, still watching her fingers move slowly across his hand "listen, baby, there's something I need to tell you, c'mere for a sec."

He closed his hand around hers and guided her around the counter to where he stood, putting both hands on her waist and lifting her up to sit on the counter. She had a hunch where this was going and she could not help but smirk, biting her lip in anticipation, squirming anxiously when he kept his hands pressed against her hips. He sighed, staring down at the floor, bracing his hands on the counter instead, seemingly struggling to say what he wanted to say. He glanced around the kitchen and the living room, feeling hesitant, was this really the best time? Shouldn't he have set up dinner, candles, flowers, something romantic? He mentally kicked himself for not putting much thought into this moment, his mind focusing only on asking her, it was like trying to write a paper for college and only having a few measly sentences strung together. She could see him struggling to tell her whatever he was going to say, and she peered up at him, confused, curious, wondering.

"Listen, uh, this isn't easy for me to do," he began, sneaking his hand past her arm to rest on her side, letting his thumb graze over a tender spot, repetitive, slow, soothing, her favorite affection.

"Is it something about work?" she questioned, worriedly "did something happen, are you sick, did you get hurt again?

She listed all the horrible things that could possibly be upsetting him.

"No, nothing like that," he assured her.

"Are, are you breaking up with me?" she asked now, voice rising in pitch, punctuated by emotions, eyes filling with tears, heart beating faster, biting her lip to stop any tears from falling out.

"No, absolutely not," he protested immediately, really hating himself for this struggle and the pain he was causing her in this agonizing wait right now. He put both hands on her sides now, stepping closer to her, wishing there was just some quick way to tell her how he felt but the words were getting twisted in his head and his chest was burning with the desire his heart needed to express.

"Then what is it?" she asked, looking up at him with a sad gaze.

"Close your eyes," he instructed her now.

"Why?" she challenged him, piercing him with that defensive look, her bottom lip trembling with anxiety. Boy was he really messing this up.

"Trust me," he breathed "it's nothing bad, I promise."

He squeezed her sides now trying to comfort and reassure her, so she listened, shutting her eyes. She scrunched her face in anticipation, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her jacket, fidgety. This was everything he loved about her, contained in these traits, these quirks, these wonderful things that melted his heart. He reached into his pocket now and pulled out the velvet lined box, popping it open in front of her.

"Open your eyes," he whispered at last and she did, blinking to adjust to the room again.

He was there, his arm outstretched, cradling a tiny box that contained a sparkly red jewel perched delicately on top of a silver band. It was a ring. Her breath caught in her chest as she stared at it then looked up at him, hardly daring to believe this was happening.

"I know this is not the normal way to do these things," he began now "but there's nothing normal about us, is there darling?"

When she couldn't answer him, he continued "There are a lot of things I wanted to say to you right now, I practiced them in my head over and over before you got home and, well, none of them want to come out right, truth is, there are a million ways to tell you how I feel but none of them will be perfect, and you deserve more than perfect, so, what I can tell you is, there is not a single second that passes that I don't fall crazy in love with you, I wouldn't trade anything in the world for you and the life we have together, I've been lost for a really long time, but when I look at you, I feel, found."

She felt an intense pain in her chest at his declarations. It hurt so bad, she had to put her hand on her chest to make sure there was nothing there causing this pain.

"And I was hoping you would want to keep going through this life with me," he continued "so Finn with two "n's", will you marry me?"

The pain in her chest had reached a critical point and she let the whimper escape her as she stared from him to the ring, darting her eyes back and forth. This was something she never expected and yet, here it was. She leaned forward, ignoring the ring and focusing only on him as she pushed her forehead hard against his, their usual affectionate game, making sure he heard her as she whispered, softly, delicately, gentler than any breeze, "Yes."

He smiled instantly and she smiled back.

"Yeah?" he asked just to be sure.

She nodded, her forehead rubbing against his when she moved, sliding her arms around him tight. He sighed, relieved, overjoyed, wrapping his arms around her equally as tight, feeling his heart beat faster in his chest, fireworks exploding in his head, he wanted to scream and tell the whole world how happy he was in this moment. But being close to her right now, the scent of her shampoo overtaking him, the feel of her warm skin against his, their foreheads still pressed together, was better than shouting from the rooftops. She had that affect on him. He would gladly parade her around and sing her praises all day, but their closeness, their privacy, that meant more to her than anything.

They stayed in this tight embrace for what seemed like an eternity, melting away, forgetting everyone and everything else around them until she broke the hug, reaching for his hands to hold now instead, grinning, happy, smitten. He knew what she wanted so he retrieved the ring box from the counter where he had set it down to hug her, picking the ring up gently, lifting her hand up and sliding it on her finger perfectly.

"It's beautiful," she sighed, admiring it, the red tint of the diamond gleaming in every angle of light.

"It's red because of what you do," he explained "you know, blood whisperer, I hope that's not weird."

She cut him off with a kiss, soft and slow, letting him know it was perfect.

"I love it," she insisted "and you, very much, and everything you said was so sweet Nicky, I'm sorry you were struggling to say it."

She brought her hand up to touch his face, caressing his cheek gently. He let her continue that motion for a moment before he reached for her wrist to hold, kissing her there, appreciating her support and understanding, every single second they spent together.

"When can we tell the guys?" she asked eagerly now "Sara and Morgan oh and Russell and Barbara."

"Well Russell kind of, sort of, already knows" Nick confessed to her and she tilted her head, confused as to how.

"Well I had to ask someone for your hand," he explained "you know, chivalry."

She gapped at him, shocked that he had thought of everything, reaching out to Russell who was important to her, remembering the chivalry teasing during the dumpster dive all those years ago, the ache in her chest starting up again.

"Nicky, that is so sweet," she cried to him now, emotions overwhelming her after everything that had just happened.

She launched herself forward again to hug him, but this time he scooped her up, lifting her off the counter at last to carry her upstairs where they could be closer, if that were even possible at this point.

She was exhausted from work, yet she never wanted this day to end. They sought shelter in bed, under the covers, nestled in a cocoon of warmth and snuggles. Once he secured his arm around her, she stretched her arm out across his chest, the ring catching the light and sparkling. She could not take her eyes off it. He was proud of how well he had surprised her, spoiled her, would have given her everything, the universe if she asked for it.

"We can tell everyone tomorrow," she decided, having thought it over and wanted to savor their privacy just a little bit longer.

"Whatever you want," he reminded her, pressing a kiss to her temple, his hand wandering to her side, finding that tender spot again and letting his fingers graze over it, once, twice, a million times. She stretched her arm out more, letting him know she wanted more affection, so he let his fingers slide up and down her arm, starting at her wrist and reaching her elbow. She scrunched up her face and bit her lip again, giggling quietly at the combination of sensations on her skin, stomach tingling, heart ready to burst with love for him.

He could lay like this with her forever, savoring every single touch, every kiss, every giggle, the way she snuggled against him, trying to get as physically close to him as she possibly could. Ask him a few years ago about his life and he would have shrugged it off as just ordinary but filled with heartache and pain. But now, he would gladly tell the world how lucky he was, how she made him a better person, how she built him up, stronger, yet allowed him to be vulnerable at the same time. They had been through so much, both separately and together, and would have so much more to go through, but he knew he could conquer anything with her by his side and he couldn't wait. There was no more fear, no more darkness, no more pain. He waited so long, but it was finally over, he had happiness, pure, unadulterated, true happiness. What a wonderful way to live.


End file.
